Tumblr Ask Box Requests - Jonsa Version
by purinsesu-sereniti
Summary: in here will be any and all tumblr requests for jonsa fics. mature for content. spoilers for season 8.
1. Chapter 1 - After the Battle

When he finds her, she's standing in the crypts before the destoyed statue of Ned Stark.

For a moment, he thinks on his choice to interrupt her, but as if she's attuned to his very presence, she turns and sees him a moment later. Her face softens with a smile, though it's a sad one, and Jon's heart aches. He approaches her and for a moment, neither of them speak; her sapphire eyes are red rimmed and swollen, telltale signs of the tears she'd been shedding before his arrival. "Sansa... I..." He begins but finds now that he's there in front of her, he's lost the words he wanted to say.

"I'll rebuild them, of course," she says, shaking him free from his thoughts. She's turned back to face the crumbled remains of her father's statue, tears shining in her eyes. It's been hours and she still can't believe it's all over. That the battle had been won... And that Jon had come back to her alive. Her time below in these very crypts, though frightening, had been long forgotten when she had seen the injuries and casualties of the battle. She sucks in a breath, closing her eyes against the pain. A tear slips free and traces the curve of her cheek, disappearing when it drips down onto the front of her dark dress. "Theon will have one as well," she opens her eyes, doing her best to force away the sorrow in her heart and voice. She's not doing so well.

"He deserves it," Jon says softly, turning slightly as she looks to him. She's crumpling then and Jon catches her as she begins to cry, gut wrenching sobs that steal the very breath from her lungs. He holds her as long as she needs, softly murmuring into her ear, one hand pressed firmly into the small of her back, the other stroking her long red hair. It could have been seconds or even months, he lost track of the time as they stood there clinging to one another. All he knew was even the Gods themselves could not pull her from him.

It's not until she begins to pull back that Jon loosens his hold on her, the hand that once stroked her hair now brushes away the last of her tears. "I'm sorry," she breathes with a shake of her head, as if she's embarassed by her emotional outburst. "There's so much else to worry about, it's not me you should be-"

He kisses her- he can't stop himself.

She stiffens in his arms for a split second- caught off guard by his actions, certainly- but then she's kissing him back. Jon hopes this kiss says everything he hadn't been able to say to her yet. A moment later, he pulls back, trailing the tips of his fingers across her jawline, down to trace the outline of her rosy lips, still yet tingling from his kiss. "Jon..." His name is a whisper on those same lips and it's all he can do not to kiss her again.

"Tyrion told me you were beyond brave down here," Jon says as he leans his forehead against hers, breathing her in as she sinks into him. She remembers the kiss to her hand, the way Tyrion's eyes had looked at her behind this very statue, where they had decided to fight rather than to die. He feels the familiar pang of jealousy thinking of another man touching her, being beside her in the moment that very well could have been their last one. But she's clutching to his fur cloak and he's forgetting his jealousy as he leans into her grip. "I'm sorry I put you into danger down here," he whispers against the crown of her hair, her braids slipping free from their pins. "I thought you would be safe here and yet I put you into more danger than-"

She's the one to silence him with a kiss this time, her lips soft and her hands warm as they slide into his wild curls. The kiss is long and passionate, perhaps full of everything they've never said to each other. When she pulls back, her eyes are shining and her cheeks are red, but she smiles as bright as the sun itself. "I love you, you know," he says before he can lose the nerve. "I know it's wrong but Sansa, I love you." This is the girl he once called sister. This is the woman who he went to war for. The woman he loved with his entire being. And was it so wrong... Really?

She widens her eyes as he confesses his truth to her and Sansa feels her heart skip a beat. Was this really happening? Was Jon really saying... That he loved her? "And there's something else I need to tell you..." He sucks in a breath, glancing left and right, as if there was someone else to overhear them besides the dead. "My father... Was Rhaegar Targaryen. My mother was Lyanna Stark." His words settle between them and Sansa draws back slightly, her mouth hanging open in her surprise. "I'm not your bastard brother. I'm not your brother at all. I'm... I'm your..."

"Cousin." She finishes for him with a slight shake of her head, as if she cannot believe what she's hearing. But one look at his face and she knows... She understands that its the truth. She can't help but to laugh, again shaking her head. All this time... All the longing between them, the strained, uncertain feelings... None of it mattered because they were not siblings at all, but cousins. She wanted to cry, but this time not from sorrow.

"When this is all over... Sansa, I want to be with you." His mouth is at her ear, his words warm against her skin. "Everything I've done has been for a reason, I swear it to you. Keep your faith in me." His mouth is on her throat then, brushing soft kisses against her exposed skin. When he pulls his mouth up, its to capture hers yet again, his arms coming around her as tightly as he dared. "I will always protect you," his words are the old vow he'd made to her, back when their enemy had been Ramsay Bolton. Though the enemy had changed, the vow had not. She nods and only then do they step apart, though the heat clings to their bodies, the need to touch the other never really leaving.

He leads her down the corridor and up the stairs, back into the main hall of Winterfell. They part ways only at the hall that leads to her own chambers and despite the fact that any single person could have been watching, he presses a kiss to her forehead. Then he watches as she walks down the hall, pausing only a moment to look back at him with a smile before she disappears through her chamber door. Jon takes a deep breath and smiles before he too walks down the halls until he reaches his own rooms, where inside he can finally lay down to sleep knowing he had done the right thing.

And when he sleeps, he dreams of her, the best dream he ever had.


	2. Chapter 2 - Jon kills Dany rewrite

When he thought about it, he'd known a long time that this was what it would come to.

As he climbs the ash covered stone steps up to where the throne room once stood, Jon knew this had always been his destiny. In a world with Daenerys Targaryen on the throne, no one would be safe, especially those he loved most. He thought of her then, of her fiery red hair and personality to match, and knew whatever happened this day... It was all to protect her and the family he'd always known.

When he steps through what used to be a doorway, he sees her, ash falling all around her, proof of the destruction she's caused. Her hand is outstretched, nimble fingers grazing the throne she'd been chasing for years. When she finally does turn around, their eyes meet across the way and her face softens, a flicker of the feelings she's always had returning to her eyes. But she turns around then, yet again facing the throne as if it was all that mattered in that moment. "When I was a girl my brother told me it was made from a thousand swords of Aegon's fallen enemies," her voice is full of wonder and Jon can imagine the look on her face. He approached where she stood, careful to keep a safe distance between them- he didn't know how this woman would react to him now, after all that had happened. "What do a thousand swords look like to a little girl that can't count to twenty?" He can hear the smile in her voice long before she turned back around to face him, her violet eyes wide in her porcelain features. As she comes toward him, she still speaks as if all is well between them, as if the last few days had never even occurred. As if even the last few hours had been nothing at all.

"Grey Worm is executing Lannister soldiers in the street. He says he's acting on your orders," he interrupts, anger surging through him, the whistle of a sword through air still yet ringing in his ears.

Her face changes, losing its wonderstruck look, replaced with surprise that he would speak to her in such a way. It was as if he'd chastised her for a misplaced toy, not the lives of soldiers she had no right to claim. "It was necessary." Her nostrils flare and Jon sucks in a breath, shaking his head.

"Necessary?" He asks, his anger white hot, the feeling similar to the day he beat Ramsay Bolton within an inch of his miserable life. "Have you been down there?" He snarls, watching as she takes a step back from him, face torn between sorrow and anger. "Children... Little children _burned!" _His voice echoes around the skeleton of the room and Dany flinches as if he's struck her. He wishes he had.

"I tried to make peace with Cersei," she says when she's recovered from his outburst. She's teetering on the edge and Jon knows it's dangerous. He's moments away from Drogon burning him alive at her very command. "She used their innocence as a weapon against me." She's blaming Cersei, as she always would, never once taking responsibility for her actions. Jon knew the truth... She had heard the bells, she had known they were surrendering. But she'd burned their city and claimed thousands of innocent lives anyways. "She thought it would cripple me." She says this as if she's proud that it didn't. Jon feels sick.

"And Tyrion?"

She shakes her head. "We can't live in a world built on small mercies." She says this of the man she's called her Hand for a long time. Her most trusted advisor, now that Missandei had died. It was true, Tyrion had conspired against her, but out of duty to his own family that Dany would see crushed.

"What we need is a world of mercy. It has to be!" Jon speaks these words from his heart and Dany softens again, coming closer to him as if she means to take him into her arsms.

"And it will be," she says softly, peering up at him with her violet eyes. He wishes he were looking into blue ones instead. Any moment here could be his last and he only wishes he had seen Sansa one last time. "It's not easy to see something that's never been before," she's smiling that same, strange almost, twisted smile and Jon fights the urge to cringe. "A good world..." She raises her hand and he can feel it pressed against his chest, against the strong pace of his heart.

"How do you know?"

Tears are brimming in her eyes as she tilts her head back ever so slightly to gaze up at him, her lips parting as she lets out a breath. "Because I know what is good." She says simply, as if that was the only answer he needed to hear. Images of blood shed and charred bodies run rampant in his mind, the sight of Arya's battered face lingers longer than all the rest. "And so do you."

"And what of the others... Who think they know what's good too?"

This time her smile is amused, but he can see the frenzied look that's made itself a permanent place in her eyes. "They don't get to choose." He thinks of Sansa and how she will never back down from this queen, no matter the punishment. He thinks of her soft, white skin charred black by dragon fire until there's nothing left of her. "Be with me, Jon... Break the wheel with me." Daenerys is tugging him down, her mouth capturing his a moment later. _This is it, _he tells himself as he slides one arm around her waist, drawing her in as he returns the kiss she's giving.

And then he stabs her.

When she pulls back, there's nothing on her face but absolute shock. Her violet eyes are wide and staring at him as if she can't believe what he's done. As he lets her go, she looks down at the sword in her gut and then she falls, sinking to the ground until she's flat on her back, choking on her own blood. Her lips move as if she means to say something, but she can no longer speak; Jon watches until she's gone, until he's certain the job is done. His hands are shaking as he pulls the blade from her body, the words of Ned Stark echoing in his thoughts: _If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. _

And he had done just that.


	3. Chapter 3 - Jon Bends to the QITN

Her hands curl atop her throne, slender digits digging deep into the hard wood as across the room, the doors were open, revealing to her a man dressed in black fur. The young queen could scarcely catch her breath as the man walked down the long aisle, coming to stand before where she sat upon her throne, unaware that his heart was beating just as fast as her own.

As Jon approaches her, he feels his breath catch, feels his heart as it tries to jump from his very chest. She's so beautiful, there upon her throne, with a crown of wolves perched atop her fire kissed hair. It's been nearly two years since he'd last saw her, two years so long they felt like lifetimes. She had written him often over the years, her letters full of mundane things, but every line written with love. Jon has each letter tucked into his trunk upstairs in his chamber. "Your grace," he says before he unsheaths his sword and drops to a knee before her, offering fealty to the one true Queen in the North. "I have come to swear allegiance to you. To stand at your side... If you'll have me." He raises his face to meet her gaze and he can see she's torn between smiling and crying, those sapphire eyes of hers shining in the torchlight.

_If you'll have me._

She thinks back to the last man who had said such words to her and her heart twists. She misses Theon as much as she misses any of her other brothers, gone too soon from this world. Looking down at Jon, she sees the future she's been waiting for, the final goal she had been working towards since her coronation two years prior. And so she smiles before she nods, a single tear slipping free to trace the curve of her cheek. She gestures for him to rise back to his feet and it's only then that she speaks, two single words that Jon had been waiting to hear for what felt like forever.

"Welcome home."


	4. Chapter 4 - Sansa illness

"Another letter, _your grace_."

Tormund's vocals are like music, his laughter floating along after. Things never seem to change, Jon supposes, including Tormund. Though he's asked the man to stop calling him _your grace_ dozens of times now, it seems likely it'll never cease. Jon imagines he does it now to annoy him, rather than out of his respect. "Thank you," he says as he takes the scroll, unrolling it while Tormund warms himself before the roaring fire.

The small, neat script is as familiar as always and Jon sighs.

"You shold write her back." Tormund says without turning back, his hands still yet outstretched towards the fire. Jon raises his gaze to the red head's back but doesn't reply, rather he turns his attention back to the words written on the page.

_Jon, _

_I've heard you've been chosen as the King Beyond the Wall. I hope it makes you happy. Things are well here at home, aside from the usual winter ailments that plague us every year. It's especially bad this year, I've already lost a maid and a guard, and Lord Royce's youngest son died just yesterday. I hope no sickness has reached you at Castle Black, nor the wall, whereever you are. I miss you terribly. Please... Write me back. Even just to see my name written on a slip of parchment will do. Please Jon, I miss you. _

_Sansa. _

Her letters come weekly, as they have since the moment they had separated back at King's Landing. The first one had been waiting for him at Castle Black the very first day he'd arrived. Jon folds the parchment up and tucks it into his doublet. He recalls the sickness she speaks of from childhood- he himself had nearly died of it and plenty of others had. Fear turns his stomach and he abruptly rises from his chair, its legs scraping against the stone floor in the most awful of ways. This catches Tormund's attention and the man turns to face him. "I forgot I said I would oversee the building today," he says, though he's made no such promise and Tormund knows this.

Jon is gone before he can respond and the man heaves a sigh, shaking his head as he instead sits down at the desk Jon once occupied. And it's there that he pens his usual note to the Queen in the North, letting her know Jon has read her letter and is still the stupidest man alive, though he's well and certainly misses her as much as she misses him. It's the least he could do for the lonely Queen.

[ x x x ]

When the raven comes, it's Tormund's handwriting yet again on the scroll.

Sansa sighs as she sits back against her chair, tossing the parchment away among all the others upon her desk. She's been working tirelessly these last few days- between preparing small funerals for those who had died of illness thus far and ensuring her people were well stocked for the remaining winter... It felt neverending. A cough escapes her and she leans over her desk, sweating beneath her heavy gray gown. When had it become so very hot?

"Your grace?"

It is Lord Royce in her doorway and she tries to smile for him as he enters the room, knowing this is a man that has stood by her all this time. "Lord Royce," she greets with a tired smile, noticing only then the rawness of her throat, of the tightness in her bones. "It is as I said, you should be with your family... I can manage without you for a few days."

Lord Royce offers his queen a small smile and shakes his head. "I feel better knowing I am at your service, my queen." He says as he steps further into the room, squinting as he peers down at her behind her desk. She is pale and drawn, looking quite unwell now that he looks closer. "You must rest," he says without hesitation, coming to stand before her desk that's littered with letters from all across Westeros. "With all the sickness around, it is imperative that you remain healthy. Please, allow me to escort you back to your chamber so you may rest."

"You are kind to worry after me, my lord, but I assure you I am well," she says, though the cough that suddenly escapes her says otherwise. "But perhaps I will allow you to walk with me back to my rooms. It is late, isn't it?" It's as she rises to her feet that Sansa realizes something isn't right with her. The tightness in her chest is suddenly overwhelming and she stumbles, darkness closing in around her. She can hear Lord Royce's voice calling out to her as if from beneath water, chanting _your grace, _over and over again until finally... She hears nothing at all.

[ x x x ]

Jon is surprised when there's no letter.

He inquires with a few of his men, all of whom shake their heads that no letter had arrived for him from anywhere. Jon can't shake the feeling inside him as he strides through the courtyard and up the stairs into his chambers, where Ghost is dozing on the floor before a dying fire. The wolf raises his head from his great big paws as he enters, looking at his master as if he's causing him an inconvience by waking him. "She always writes me," Jon says aloud as he paces back and forth, forcing Ghost to sit up with a yawn. "Always." His mind is racing, wondering if the beautiful queen had finally let him go. He wouldn't blame her of course, it's what he wanted her to do... Wasn't it?

After several more moments of pacing, he stops at his desk and catches sight of her last letter, folded up there on top of all the others. He reaches for it and the moment he begins to read, a cold realization settles in the pit of his stomach. "No..." He mumbles, tossing the letter back down, shaking his head.

"Go to her."

Jon turns at the sound of a voice, only to find Tormund standing in the door. "Go," he urges with a nod of his head, knowing Jon would never rest if he didn't. For no letter to have come from the Queen in the North meant something and it couldn't be good. "I'll look after things here... So go." Jon came up to stand before him and it was a moment later that they were embracing. When Jon pulled back, it was to grab his old fur cloak and flee into the corridor, Ghost trotting along behind him.

It takes him only ten minutes to secure a few provisions for the road and saddle up his horse. And then he's off, rushing back to home, back to her.

[ x x x ]

As she drifts back to the world of the living, Sansa realizes she can't move her legs.

A rush of fear wakens her completely and she forces herself up in bed, though it proves a great feat indeed. She begins coughing a moment after she realizes someone is draped over her lower half; Jon is awake the moment she begins to cough and he's surging towards the head of her bed, gently pushing her back down against her pillows. "You're here," she whispers when she's finished coughing, her throat dry and aching though she smiles as he leans over her, brushing hair from her forehead.

"You didn't write me," he murmurs back and his words elicit a soft chuckle from her trembling lips.

"You never write back," she quips, sick but still fierce.

"There was too much to say," he says and she raises her sapphire gaze to meet his. "Besides.. You know I was always poor at letters," she's reminded of their childhood, when her mother had punished him and Robb both for their lackluster writing. "Can I stay?" He asks then, gesturing back to the chair he'd once been sleeping in. Sansa regards him for one single moment before she nods, sinking back against her pillows as he drags the chair to where he stood and settles himself into it. And then they begin to talk.

He doesn't tell her that he's been there at her side for days, but rather they talk about the family they both miss. They talk about the childhood left behind and the present they have come to know. They talk and talk until she falls asleep, drained from days of illness, and he can't stop himself from leaning over her to softly kiss her forehead. There at her bedside, he wonders how he ever was able to separate himself from her... For now that he was here he was certain he would never leave her again.


	5. Chapter 5 - Wildling Jon x QITN

"A visitor, your grace."

Her attendant backs from the room a moment later, perhaps one of the only people in the world she trusted with the secret of who had come to her. The man bows low to his queen, who still seated behind her desk raises her gaze, surprised at the sight of the man that rises to face her. "Jon," her voice is soft, a smile finding its way to her lips as she gets to her feet. The man's dark eyes are shining as he takes a single step closer towards the queen. It only takes a moment for her to jump to her feet, sweeping around the table and surging towards him. "You're really here!" She whispers as she flings her arms around him, burying her face into the warm crook of his neck.

"I couldn't stay away, my sweet," he murmurs, breathing in the rose water she had washed in that morning. His hands are tracing the length of her body and shivers race her spine as his grip tightens at her hips. "I've missed you, Sansa." She tilts her head back, his mouth capturing hers with a fiery kiss that weakens her knees. Sansa takes hold of his leather jerkin as one hand slides into her hair, the other pressed tight against the small of her back. His kiss intensifies and weeks of being without him has only ignited her passion for him. Her tongue meets his, lips parting to allow him entrance to her mouth and again she's struck with chills that make her ache below.

He's pushing her backwards then and she feels her hips press against the edge of the table she had only just been sitting at. "Jon!" His name is a gasp on her lips as he begins pushing up her heavy black skirts and her own hands begin fumbling with the laces on his breeches. She feels his hands on her waist, hefting her up onto the table top, skirts gathered up all around her; he's pulling her smallclothes down as she freed him from the confines of his bottoms and a moment later he's inside her. He feels her anchoring her legs around his hips, one hand gripping his shoulder as she leans backward, her back arched against his every thrust.

When they've finished, Jon leans over her and kisses her deeply, his hands gripping the soft, pale skin of her thighs. "It is safe to say you have missed me too," he teases when he draws back, finally releasing her long enough so she may slide from the table top, skirts rumpled as they tumble back to the ground. "You look as if you've been misbehaving." His good natured vocals leave her chuckling as she looks down at her wrinkled skirts and back up to his face. He wishes he could take her from this place, away from the loveless political marriage she'd been forced into some months ago. But a queen could not marry as she pleased, Sansa herself had told him that when the engagement had been announced. Back then, he had thought he might die knowing she lived so unhappily, but she had assured him all was well. _As long as we're together..._ She had whispered in his ear that last night they spent together before she married, a tangle of limbs and sheets for what should have been the last time.

But he continued to come, continuing both his relationship with the queen and peace with the country she ruled. Once, the free folk and the North had lived apart, not quite enemies but not quite allies. However, things changed when their young queen, Sansa Stark ascended to the throne just a year before. They had met as children, when she and her brothers had played just inside the wall, while their father the King had walked atop it with the old King-beyond-the-wall. Sansa had wandered through an open gate and out beyond the wall, coming lost in the woods that bordered the free folk's camp. It had been Jon who found the crying princess and led her home, where her father rewarded him greatly for his good deed.

He could still recall the moment his eyes had fallen on her, so small and shaking in her torn silk gown. Even at the tender age of ten, he'd felt the grasping of fate, as if every moment of his young life had led him right there. Despite the years that passed, he'd not forgotten the princess he'd rescued, with eyes the color of a sapphire. He had heard the rumors of where like had taken her- King's Landing where her father was stripped of his title and beheaded for treason; where she was abused by the Lannister's and married to an imp. Accused of poisioning the Lannister King, she to the Riverlands and into the Vale with a man who sold her to her family's greatest enemy under the guise of another marriarge. Jon can't hardly think about that anymore because he knows what she suffered there and even to this day, he seethes with fury over it.

Of course, all of those men are dead and buried, no longer able to bring her harm. Jon had seen to that personally. Against all odds, she had escaped her prison under Ramsay Bolton and fled for the wall, where she had heard rumors of the new King-beyond-the-wall was a man named Jon. She had turned up at his camp in a gray cloak, her horse dying beneath her just as the red woman had said she would. From there, Jon had gone to war for her, reclaiming Winterfell in her name with the help of his free folk brotheren.

And then she was crowned queen, as she deserved to be.

"Jon..." Her voice tugs him from his thoughts and he reaches for her, embracing her as he'd done countless times. "I have something to tell you," she whispers, her voice muffled against his chest; he feels her heave a sigh before she draws back, peering into his dark eyes as her lips begin to smile. "I'm with child." He blinks, tilting his head as he takes in what she's just said to him, the words not making sense at first. But then he understands when she laughs and says: "It's yours."


	6. Chapter 6 - Dornish Lemons

"Did you hear, the Prince of Dorne came all this way just to court the queen!"

From where he stands, Jon turns, listening intently to the conversation he's overhearing. It's two men just come from Wintertown after a scouting mission. Without the wall to defend and no White Walkers either, the Night's Watch had suddenly become more of a security force for the North. They went as their queen bid, who kept close contact, ensuring her people were kept safe from enemies abroad and within their own kingdom. Jon has not left Castle Black in several months, aside from his ventures to the wall, and could only rely on the word of others for information about the happenings in Winterfell. Sansa wrote to him once a month, but it was always the same, a pardon of his crimes against the crown and a summons to her side.

"I heard he brought a whole crate of lemons for her." The other man replies as they walk by. "They say the queen will marry him before winter ends." They turn the corner, their conversation out of earshot now, but Jon has heard enough. His hands grasp the railing of the battlement, his breath catching in his throat as he thinks about what he's just heard. _Married... She's going to get married? _Jon supposes he can't blame her if she is, she's a queen now and it's her duty to provide her kingdom with heirs. Once, he had thought he would be the one to give her those heirs... No, he shakes his head, forcing away the thought. He had given all of that up when he killed Daenerys Targaryen. He had killed a queen to save his family, to save Sansa, and he would gladly do it again if need be. But he could not help but to feel a pang of remorse, if only for being unable to remain with her. The selfish part of him wanted nothing more than to be with her.

They lived so close and yet so very far.

Jon sighs and turns, walking down the battlements and down to the courtyard, joining Tormund who had come through the gate just a moment before. No matter what he wanted, it could not be, not anymore. He had a new life and so did she.

[ x x x ]

By the time she's settled into her chambers for the night, Sansa is exhausted.

Between dodging the flirtations of the over zealous Dornish prince and her queenly duties, she finds no time for herself but a few spare hours at night when she sleeps. Even there the prince would bother her, if it weren't for Brienne's stone faced gaze and Shae's quick, narrowed eyes. Sansa sighs as she sinks onto her bed, fully dressed, throwing herself backwards over the fur coverlet. She had unpinned her hair and it cascaded over the other edge of the bed, so long that she could feel its ends trailing the floor; she makes a mental note to ask Shae to cut some length from it.

There comes a knock to her door and it opens. "You are quite unseemly, my lady," Shae laughs as she approaches the young queen on her bed. Sansa remains as she is, listening to Shae as she laid out a fresh nightgown. She sits up only when Shae leans over her on the bed, peering down into her sullen face like a mother might her child. "You could just send him away, you know." She knows her lady craves the attention of another man entirely, one that she has not seen in several months now. One that's not even bothered to write to her once, though Sansa sent him a pardon each new month. She sits down on the edge of the queen's bed as the redhead finally sits herself up, her eyes soft and her mouth downturned as she slowly shakes her head.

"It's not so easy, Shae." Is all she can say as she folds her hands in her lap. She was queen now and part of her duty was to provide stability to the realm through marriage. And of course to bear children that would inherit her throne and their father's, too. "I'm the queen. I have to marry someone."

Shae sighs, reaching out to gently touch her queen's hands, the touch forcing the young woman to look up in surprise. "You have been married twice against your will. Men have used you in ways no woman should ever be used... Queen or not, don't you think you should finally marry for love?" Sansa's eyes widen but she doesn't respond, rather she falls back into the privacy of her own mind, where deep down she does truly wish to marry for love. But the one she loved... He'd not spoken to her since that day on the docks in King's Landing. She had wrote him monthly, pardoning him for his supposed crimes, and yet he'd still yet to return home. He had not even bothered to write her back all these months. And so what else was she to do?

But even as she lay awake in bed long after Shae had left, she can't help but to think about what she had said. _Queen or not... Don't you think you should marry for love? _She had once thought no man would ever love her beyond her title and Jon had proven her wrong. He had loved her when she was no more than a battered girl running away from a husband that had used and abused her. He had loved her when she had gone behind his back and sought help from a man neither of them trusted. He had loved her enough to go to war and win... Had loved her enough to slay a queen, his own kin, just to ensure she was safe. Jon was the only man who would ever love her for more than just her title, she knew that well.

And so... Perhaps that meant a life of loneliness. It was her punishment for her hand in Jon's downfall. They both would live a life atoning for what they had done, though some might say they had done nothing wrong. She would marry a man she didn't love to protect her kingdom and she would have children to come after her. And those children she would never force to marry unless they loved. Her children would be happy... Happier than she would ever be.

[ x x x ]

"Are you going to mope for much longer?"

Jon looks from his desk, scattered with scrolls he's never sent, with words he'll never say. "Just go to her." Tormund says from his place in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest as he looks at him. "You've been sitting around brooding more than ever all because you overheard some half grown kids talking about _her _getting married. Go on then, go stop her."

He sighs, shaking his head before he lowers his gaze. "I can't. You know that. I'm-"

"Banished? I see seven pardons sitting right there." Tormund says as he approaches Jon's desk, shaking his own head. "She wants you and you're just gonna let some foreign dick come and sweep her off her feet, little crow?" Jon looks up again at the sound of his old nickname. "Go to her," he says again, this time with a nod. "And tell the big woman I said hello, when you do." His smirk is as wild as his hair and Jon slowly nods, as if this had been the answer all along.

At the very least, he would go to her and tell her the truth. He would not let her slip away so easily.

[ x x x ]

The queen's laughter floats along from the high table, where she sits beside the Dornish prince. Quentyn Martell is a handsome man, Sansa cannot deny that, and he is quick witted enough to keep her attention. But where Jon was soft edges, this man was sharp. Where Jon had been gentle, he was tough. The Dornish prince was nice enough she supposed, and he would never mistreat her, but he had already made several comments on taking her away to Dorne. And that she would never do. Her place was in the North, no matter what part of the world her husband came from.

"How are your lemoncakes, my queen?" Quentyn asks, gesturing down at the plate of cakes before them. He had sent her crates of lemons for the last several months, the first one arriving mere days after her departure from King's Landing. Along with that first crate, he had sent a letter, one which praised her beauty and her ferocity, _quality traits for a woman and a queen, _he had written. Sansa had rolled her eyes but wrote back, thanking him for his generosity, and the next thing she had known was his talk of marriage and visit to Winterfell.

"They're wonderful," she smiles for him, leaning into his space ever so slightly, sapphire eyes darkening. "Thank you again for bringing them. I had not thought I'd taste a lemon again, once winter came."

Quentyn grins back at her, meeting her gaze for a long moment before he speaks. "Walk with me, won't you?" She glances out towards the room full of people and wonders what they might think seeing her leave to be alone with the Dornish prince. Biting her lower lip, she turns back to him and nods, allowing him to take her hand and help her onto her feet. With her arm in his, they walk out of the back door that leads to a long corridor, where he steers her further down until they reach the end, only able to go back the way they had come or go into one of the rooms within the back hall. "I am mad for you," he whispers suddenly, his hands sliding into her hair, uncaring of the pins he knocked loose. "You have bewitched me." The force of his touch pushes her back against the wall and Sansa feels her breath catch, her heart hammering hard within her chest. All she can think is of him, of Jon, wondering why her life had come to this yet again.

His mouth is on hers before she can speak and Sansa freezes- she's a girl again, thrust into a dirty world of men and monsters. Her mind is spinning as she feels his tongue slip into her mouth, one of his hands still tangled in her hair, the other at her waist. It takes only another moment before she finds herself again, pushing him away from her with a shove harder than she intended. "We should go back-"

"We won't be missed," Quentyn replies, leaning in to kiss her again, mistaking her fear of him for fear of being caught.

It is then that they both hear the clearing of a throat and Sansa nearly cries when she sees Brienne standing there. "Your grace," her sworn sword says as she comes to stand before them, her presence forcing Quentyn to release her from his grasp. "Shall I escort you back to your rooms?" She asks, her stormy eyes never once straying from the Dornish prince's face, who at least as enough tact to look shamed by their discovery. Sansa nods and slips away, following after Brienne at close proximity until they reach her rooms. "Are you alright?" Brienne questions the moment the door has closed and they're alone.

Sansa swallows and nods.

Mumbling something about killing the man, Brienne turns away when the door opens again and Shae comes inside. "I won't be far," Brienne says before stepping out of the room, where sure enough she stands outside as guard, as she had once done when her queen was only a frightened girl first saved from the hound Ramsay Bolton.

Noting her queen's pale face and shaking hands, Shae soothes her softly as she unlaces her gown, replacing it with a soft white nightgown. She sits her down and brushes her red hair until it shines and then plaits it, one long braid that hangs down her back to her waist. "There was a rider at the gate this evening." Shae says after a few minutes of silence, turning the queen's attention away from yet another man's wandering hands. "He asked to speak to you." Shae goes on as she slips her warm robe over her shoulders and presses a goblet of wine into her hands.

"A rider?" Sansa asks, her evening suddenly forgotten as her heart did a backwards flip. She didn't dare believe it to be him.

"I can fetch him, if you like, but I thought you might want to wait until morning." Shae replies, her tone quite telling. Suddenly, Sansa's heart is racing, but quite unlike how it had been earlier. Sansa only has to think on it for a moment before she nods, gulping down a sip of wine to calm her nerves as Shae leaves the room. Rising up from her chair, she begins to pace before the fire, wringing her hands as she goes. She stops to take another drink from her discarded goblet when Shae knocks on the door.

"Come in," she calls in a tone that sounds calmer than she feels inside.

The door opens and Jon steps into the room, looking tired yet wild; his dark eyes find hers and Sansa blinks, unable to find her voice now that he stands before her. "Sansa..." Her name upon his lips is sweeter than anything she's ever heard in all her life and she can't stop the tears that fill her eyes.

It takes only a moment for them to rush into each other's arms; Jon breathes her in and she still smells of rose water, as she always had. She buries her face into his warm neck, the feel of his arms around her more calming than anything else ever could be.

[ x x x ]

They stay up for hours, simply talking.

Besides the last seven months, there was all the time before to talk about. They talk about Daenerys, they talk about why he had never told her the truth of what he'd been trying to do. They talk about Theon and how much Sansa misses him still. They talk of Arya and how Lord Gendry Baratheon had left his castle in the keep of a lord and disappeared with her. They talk until Sansa is certain she can talk no longer. At least until...

"Are you really going to marry him?"

Sansa looks up, surprised that he's asked such a thing of her. "I don't know," she says defiantly, though she doesn't mean to sound so harsh.

"Don't."

His single word is a plea and Sansa blinks, staring back at him as if he's grown another head. She wants to be happy that he's upset by her marriage prospect, but she's also angry. "You don't get to decide that," she says sharply, sapphire eyes flashing in the firelight. The wine has given her fangs. "You rode North to the wall and haven't so much as thought of me until you heard I might marry?" She shakes her head, rising to her feet. "Now you run back to me after nearly a year without a word and think you can tell me what to do?"

"Not thought of you?" He asks incredulously, jumping to his own feet. He knows she's angry and he doesn't blame her. But he needs her to know. Even if this goes nowhere, even if she banishes him back to the wall forever, he needs her to know. "I've thought of you everyday!" His voice rises as he throws out a hand, his dark eyes rising to meet hers. "How could I come back and face you after what I have done?" How could she say such a thing to him? She didn't understand, he had committed a crime and deserved to be punished for it. It mattered not the reason why he had done it. He had murdered the queen and deserved the punishment given to him. But that didn't lessen how he felt about _her_.

"You could have written me!" She explodes, her entire frame shaking with the emotions running rampant through her body. "You could have come home when I sent any one of those letters!" Tears are coursing down her cheeks and there's little she can do to stop them. "I have waited all this time for you, alone! You have been at the wall with Tormund and your brothers- Arya sailing west with Gendry! Bran in King's Landing. And I have been alone here all this time!" She chokes on a sob and turns away, unable to face him now as tears stream down her face.

Jon freezes, his anger rushing out of him as soon as she spoke.

He had not thought about her and her loneliness within the walls of Winterfell. He had thought instead of the lords and ladies around her, of Brienne at her side, and all of the North showing love for her as their queen. He had not thought of what it must have felt like to be utterly alone, with no family... Truly, she was alone. And he had so selfishly ignored her, thinking it was he who deserved to be alone, not thinking about what his silence had done to her. Jon lets out a breath and then reaches for her, drawing her into his arms without another word. She fights against him for only a moment, but then yields to his embrace as she begins to cry gutwrenching sobs that truly break his heart. "I'm sorry," is all he can whisper, over and over again, until his voice goes hoarse.

When her tears begin to fade a short while later, she pulls back from him, though his arms remain wrapped around her waist. "I don't want to marry him," she admits softly, her cheeks growing warm with her admission. "I want to marry for love." Jon leans his forehead down, his mouth hovering over her own. He's so close she can feel the curve of his lips when he smiles. "But the man I love isn't free."

"He could be," Jon whispers, his grip pulling her back in. She can't help but to compare how it felt being in his arms than it had in the Quentyn's; where one had frightened her, the other calmed her. She sinks into his embrace, nuzzling the warm expanse of his neck as she slung her arms around his waist. "I am yours to command, my queen." His words send chills down her spine and Sansa tightens her grip on his body as she raises her face back to look him in the eyes.

"Stay with me," she says softly.

When Jon kisses her a moment later, it is a soft kiss, a kiss full of every unspoken thing between them. His hands raise to her face and one cups her cheek while the other slides into her hair, digits tangling into her silky red strands. "I am yours, heart and soul." He murmurs when he draws back a moment later, staring into those eyes he could lose himself in. Her lips curve and she is the one who kisses him then, a deep kiss that steals the very breath from his lungs, a kiss that tells him everything she had yet to say.


	7. Chapter 7 - Jon Pardoned

The vision comes strong and true, moreso than any of his most recent ones.

It's quick, but he's certain of what he sees; vivid red hair cascading down the back of a snow white gown trimmed in fur and dark, unruly hair pulled back in a signature bun, a pair of hands clasped together beneath the weirwood tree. When he comes back to the world of the living, he's smiling. "You know," Bran says in his off-hand sort of way, catching the attention of his Hand just sitting across the way from him. Ser Davos Seaworth leans in, inclining his head. After a year as Hand to the King, the old man has begun to understand the young King- in fact, he's begun to grow fond of the aloofness in the boy. "I think Jon Snow has been punished long enough." Davos blinks but doesn't respond and Bran is amused by his surprise. "I shall have the proper papers drawn up and we shall see to it before the day is over."

"Yes, your grace," Davos nods, surprised by the King's sudden decision. He's happy to hear such a thing, though, for he had thought it been an undeserving punishment. It was true, Davos had thought he'd serve another King with the Stark blood running through his veins and he'd always felt quite bitter over the fate of Jon Snow. But something told him, as it always did, to trust his new, young King.

"I think my sister, the Queen in the North, will be happy to receive him, don't you?" Bran's normally stoic voice has a tint of mirth that makes Davos raise his gaze once again from the documents before him. Davos doesn't argue- he knew without a doubt that the young queen Sansa Stark would indeed be delighted at the prospect of having Jon at her side again. From the moment he had seen the two together, Davos had thought something was going on between them, though propriety had always kept him from asking. But, he'd seen the way they'd looked at one another, had heard how they spoke of each other... It was clear that they felt things no true brother and sister should have felt. And then in the end... They were siblings at all. Had things gone differently, Davos would not have been surprised to see them wed, now that they were able. "Write to her and ensure it's arranged." Bran's voice brings him back and Davos nods, knowing that there was more to this than his King was letting on. But, as always, he was certain things would work out the way they were meant to.

[ x x x ]

"Pardoned?"

Jon doesn't dare believe it, despite the royal decree in his hands. He doesn't dare believe it, even with a handwritten note from Bran himself. "It's about time." Tormund intones, clapping Jon on the shoulder. "Never should have been punished in the first place," he's muttering as he walks past him, gesturing for the man in the King's livery to follow him, so he might take him to warm up and get some food for himself.

Once alone, Jon sinks into the nearest chair, rereading the words on the scroll for what had to be the tenth time.

_Jon,_

_It is as it says, you are pardoned for your crimes against the crown. A year at the wall seems sufficient enough time for you to have thought over your actions. It's time you return to where you belong... Home. I have sent word ahead to Sansa, she will be expecting you. _

_Perhaps we will see each other soon. _

_Bran _

His heart skips a beat again as his eyes focus on her name, written there on the scroll. "Sansa..." He says her name softly, though he's thougt it dozens. She's never far from his mind, in truth, and every letter she writes is more than he deserves. A smile tugs on his lips as he tucks the parchment into his jerkin, a hand reaching up to run through his wild hair, left untamed these last several months.

Though part of him isn't so sure he deserves this pardon nor to stand before her, but the other part of him wants to jump for joy. He's missed her more than he can express and his other family too, Arya too is on his mind often, though she writes far less than Sansa, he still expects a letter twice in a month. And so he gives himself only a few more minutes of worrying before he rises from his chair and reaches for the old saddle bag collecting dust beneath his bed. There's nothing left for him to think about- he's returning home, he's returning to _her_.

[ x x x ]

She's in her solar when she hears the guard's cry in the courtyard, calling to arms as a rider approached the gates. A tremor of fear and excitement roll through her and she steadies herself on the chair she's just risen up from. There is a quick knock on her door and it's Brienne who's standing there, her smile quick and easy as she catches sight of her young queen's face. "He's here, your grace," Brienne says when she's had her bow, though Sansa insists she needn't do it when they're alone. "Shall I call the Lords?" Though she knew the proper thing to do would be see Jon before her small court of Northern lords, but at once she felt the familiar pang of selfishness when it came to Jon. No, she would see him privately, he was family after all.

"Send him to me. Here." Sansa says without another moment of hesitation and Brienne nods without judgment. In truth, if Sansa was happy, then so was Brienne. There was little else in the world that Brienne cared for, save for her queen. Though some might talk about the relationship the two surely had, it mattered not to Brienne. If Jon Snow made her happy, then Brienne would not speak ill of him- even if he did seem a bit too brooding for her radiant mistress. Besides... She knew the young queen was lonely. Though happy in her position and home, Brienne knew that she missed her family dearly. Here in Winterfell, there was no one she confided in, save for herself. There was no one else for her siblings had all gone off to their own corners of the world.

Brienne bows again (and can't help but to smile to herself when Sansa makes a face at the gesture) and backs out of the room, knowing very well that things would change from this moment on.

In her rooms, Sansa paces back and forth, fretting over every possible thing she could; was her hair a mess? Why had she chosen to wear this old gown today, of all days? What would Jon think of her now? Would he look at her as he had once done? _Knock, knock, knock. _It's his knock, slow and steady, and when she calls "come in" her heart is beating faster than she's ever felt it. He opens the door and steps over the threshold, coming to stand at the center of the room, his dark eyes finding hers.

He can't believe how beautiful she is.

For several long moments (or perhaps even lifetimes) he stands there, taking in the sight of her standing behind her desk. Her red hair is longer than he remembers, twisted back into an array of elaborate braids at the back of her head. Her gown is black and it fits her well, hugging her frame in the most delicious of ways. Those sapphire eyes are filling with tears and her mouth trembles as she softly speaks his name. Jon can feel every breath catching in his throat, his lungs crippled, his heart racing; how is it that she can undo him with even just a glance? His hand twitches and he realizes there's nothing else he wants to do but feel her skin against his. She comes around the front of her table and she's just there, just out of reach if he were to put out an arm. "Sansa..." Her name is a whisper on his lips and it's then that she's rushing for him. Jon opens his arms and catches her, the momentum of his embrace sweeping her off her feet.

"You're here..." Her whispered words ghost against his skin and Jon feels a chil race his spine.

"I am," he whispers back, voice gruff as he tries to control the emotions rushing through him. He draws back to hold her at arms length, to stare into those beautiful eyes and know despite it all, she still looked at him as if he'd hung the moon in the sky. In truth, he'd done that and more, if it were for her. "I'm home," he clarifies before swiping a thumb across her cheek, wiping away all traces of her tears. She smiles and then sinks against him, clinging to him as if he is all that anchors her to this world. Jon buries his face into her neck and breathes her in, her scent as familiar to him as ever. Home was not Winterfell, home was holding her in his arms. Home was her.


	8. Chapter 8 - Dany Interrupts

She's at the door watching, she can't help it.

She watches as Jon spills his seed into the girl he once called sister. She watches as he draws her into him, pressing a tender kiss to her mouth before he brushes a stray lock of red hair from her forehead. And she watches when he trails his hands down the length of her body, as if he simply can't get enough of touching her, the way he looked at her as if she were the moon itself hanging in the starry sky. He never had looked at her in such a way, not even when they had once laid together, not even after when he had called his _my queen_ and touched her hand.

And she can't take it any longer.

With a push of the door, she's in his rooms, shocking both of them; Jon leaps up from the bed, hastily tugging on his discarded breeches while Sansa fumbles with the blanket, pulling it up to cover her naked frame. Neither look shamed by being caught and in truth, Daenerys could swear Sansa looks smug.

"You dare betray me, Jon Snow," she hisses as she comes to stand in the center of the room, violet eyes narrowing as they gaze upon the man before her. "I have given you my heart and my armies... I have given the life of my child in this fight against _your _enemy, and this is how you repay me?" Her gaze swivels to Sansa on the bed, who stares back at her with a steady sapphire gaze, unwavering, unafraid. She would soon fear her. Jon opens his mouth to speak but she turns back to him, cutting him off before he could speak. "When I take my throne... You will pay for making a mockery of me."

She turns then, storming from the room without so much as a backwards glance. In the morning, she would take her remaining armies and head south. There she would crush Cersei and take the throne that had always belonged to her. And when she finally sat upon it, she would take all Jon loved and in the end, he would beg for death.

That she was certain of.


	9. Chapter 9 - Dany Watches

She knows things are amiss and yet she can't help but to push the thoughts away and seek him out. Perhaps if only they might speak… Perhaps then she might hear him again call her his queen and feel his warm lips against hers. Then all would be well again. She tries hard to assure herself that the way Jon looks at his beloved sister is nothing more than brotherly love and yet… She sees how he looks at the younger sister, the dark haired girl that looks like him, and his gaze is so very different.

As she approaches his chambers, Dany hears the muffled sounds of voices from within; she pauses where she stands, breath catching in her throat when she hears a woman's voice crying out in pleasure. It can't be, she thinks as she puts her hand to the door, pushing it open just enough so she can see inside. What she sees is not what she expects and yet, at the same time, it's the one thing she's feared the most since she stepped foot here in Winterfell. A long, lithe body writhes on the bed, red hair so long that it cascades over the edge of the bed towards the floor below. She's got her pale, slender legs hooked around Jon's hips as he thrusts into her, his head thrown back as he moans her name.

Her first instinct is to turn away but now that she's there, Dany can't take her eyes off of the pair. Sansa is arching against him, a pool of pleasure beneath him as he shifts her body, leaning over her to capture her mouth with his. Why… Dany wonders as she watches, why her? It was true, Sansa Stark was beautiful, but what did she have that Dany does not_? I am his queen, his love, he's said so himself…_ And yet… Had he? Dany blinks as she racks her brain, trying to recall a time when Jon had whispered those words to her, and she realizes she can find not one. They had not even shared each other's bed again since that night on the ship and their intimate moment had been so unlike this one she was witnessing with her own two eyes.

And suddenly, white hot rage surges through her body; Dany watches in silence as the man she loves- the man she's lost a dragon and nearly all of her army for- fuck a woman that isn't her. A woman he once called sister. Dany seethes, violet eyes flickering from Jon to Sansa, watching as the young woman cries out his name, her head thrown back with the force of her satisfaction. She watches on as Jon finishes his deed, uncaring as he empties his seed into the woman beneath him- a thing he had not done for even her, though she had told him she was barren. Her anger mounts. She watches as Jon collapses onto the bed beside her, drawing her naked frame into his arms and holding on to her for dear life. When had he held her that way?

She quietly closes the door and backs away, body trembling as she walks down the long hall towards her own chambers. Once inside, she slams the door closed and upends the table, breaking the pitcher filled with wine all over the floor. She stands among the mess, panting, nothing but anger rushing through her veins. _They will pay_, she decides as she stands there, _no… she will pay. _It was easy to blame the lovely redhead for what she had just witnessed- Jon had once been hers and somehow she had managed to steal him from her. After all she had done for these people, after all she had sacrificed to their cause, they betray her.

And so they will pay, she will make sure of it.


	10. Chapter 10 - Sansa Seduces Jon

When she raised her hand to knock on his chamber door, she hesitated.

She knew there weren't many ways that she could save Jon, that she could protect him, but perhaps this way... Perhaps this way she could. And Sansa would be lying if she said she didn't want this too. That thought alone was enough to give her the courage to knock, to stand there while she waited for him to open the door. She supposed it was late, he might not even hear her knocking if he slept already.

_Knock, knock._

Jon hadn't expected to hear a knock on the door so late into the night. He couldn't sleep and he supposed it would be another sleepless night for him, kept awake by the endless fight he fought against the world. Every moment, he felt burdened by his role as Daenerys' lover- if you could even call him that. Now that he knew the truth of his parentage, he couldn't bring himself to lay with her again, he couldn't even kiss her without feeling sick. He had never wanted to be with her in the beginning, but he had forced himself to placate her, hoping it would help her find the right path, especially when it came to the North. He had hoped that by siding with her and making her feel like he was hers, she would protect the family he loved so dearly. But he had been wrong. So very, very wrong.

And so when someone knocks on his door so late at night, he can't help but to feel a tremor of fear- of frustration- rush through him_. Daenerys_, he thought as he rose from where he sat before the fire, _it must be her_. But when he opened the door, it was not the silver-haired Targaryen queen he saw. "Sansa..." His stomach turned, but not with apprehension, rather relief, and he felt warmth rush through his entire being. How could it be that she undid him with even just a single look?

Sansa watched as relief spread across his features, softening his eyes and his mouth as he stepped aside to let her in. He closed the door behind her and they came to stand at the center of the room, warm and bright by the still roaring fire. "I'd apologize for waking you, but it looks like you've not touched your bed in days." It's still tightly made, Agatha's work, the old crone who had always tut tutted at her and Jon's closeness. She took only a moment to wonder if his bed remained tidy because he'd been sleeping in her chambers. But she pushed such thoughts away as she focused on his face, tired and drawn, as if he'd not had a good night's rest in days. Only two days before he had fought a battle against the dead themselves and yet he still did not sleep. "I am sorry for disturbing you, though, I only wanted to check on you."

Jon can't take his eyes off of her; she's so beautiful there in the firelight, her red hair unbound from it's usual braids, a stark contrast to her black gown. "You never disturb me," he took a step closer to her, his heart warming when she smiled upon him, a soft blush coloring her cheeks. "But you should be sleeping," he admonished, knowing she had been working tirelessly to provide for all of the North, including stitching up the injured soldiers and even prepping Theon for his burial. She had proven herself yet again to be the true Lady of Winterfell, the only one deserving of the title queen.

"I couldn't," she replied, taking a step towards him, closing the gap between them. Her heart was pounding so hard within her chest that she was certain Jon could have heard it beat. She wished she'd had the thought of drinking wine, it would have calmed her nerves. "Jon... I..." She found that there were no words she could say and so she decided that there was no need. This would go one of two ways and there was no way of knowing until she tried.

And so she kissed him.

She kissed him and it only took a single moment for him to yield. Sansa felt his arms come around her as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing hers as he pulled her closer, their bodies pressed together as if they were matching puzzle pieces. A moment later, Jon drew back from her, looking into her eyes as if to ask her is this really alright? Their gazes never wavered, not for several long moments, and Sansa could only give a single nod. It was then that Jon was kissing her, with such ferver that he swept her off her feet. She could feel his hands tracing the outline of her body, one snaking around to press into the small of her back, the other making its way up and into her long red hair. "Sansa," he gasped when he drew back again, this time merely to catch his breath, and his other hand slid into place against her cheek, leaving her back cold without his touch.

They had been teetering on this moment for far too long. He could recall every sinful, lust driven thought he'd had of her, never acting upon it for obvious reasons. But then Sam had told him the truth of who his parents had been and it had changed everything. If only he'd known before leaving for Dragonstone. Now, he was tangled up with the damned mother of dragons and even one misstep could lead to the destruction of everything he loved. And damn near everything was there in his arms right then. "Sansa, we don't..." He was thinking of her and her tainted past- this couldn't be easy for her.

"Stop talking." She said with a shake of her head, leaning in to capture his mouth with his. "For just one night... Don't think... Don't talk... Just be with me." Jon stared at her for just a moment longer before he gave a nod, wondering how a moment like this could make so much sense. This time their kiss was deeper, stronger, a kiss that stole the breath from her lungs and the strength from her knees. But he was there to keep her upright, his hands securely on either side of her hips as his tongue met hers once again.

It could have been several minutes or lifetimes before Jon could take no more and so he drew her towards his bed, seating himself down on the edge with her between his knees. "Turn around," he rasped, watching as she did as he bid, pulling her hair over a shoulder and looking at him over said shoulder in the most seductive of ways. Did she even know what she did to him? Jon took the next few moments to slowly unlace the back of her gown, giving her ample opportunity to stop him if she wished. But she made no movement until he had finished and her gown had fallen to the floor at her feet. It was only then that she turned, clad only in her shift, that she turned around to face him. With her own hands, she helped him from his shirt and it joined her gown on the floor. She then pulled her shift over her head and tossed it aside, leaving her to stand there naked before him. Jon sucked in a breath, his hand reaching out to clasp her breast, kneading her petal soft skin with a gentle touch. It was her turn to catch her breath, head tilted back as his hand moved to her other breast, fingertips grazng her skin, leaving fire in their wake.

Her hands were moving then, reaching for the laces of his breeches which came undone beneath her nimble fingers and only then was he exposed to her. Sansa ran her hand along the length of him, the feel of him shuddering beneath her touch like nothing she had ever felt before. She raised her gaze to meet his and it was almost like he could read her mind, for he pushed himself further back onto the bed, giving her the space to straddle his pelvis, her body just barely touching his. His mouth clamped down over hers as she slid him into her, a rush of pleasure running its course through her body. Jon was moving in time with her, his hands on her hips as he thrust into her, his head throw back as her name left his lips in the sound of a moan.

Over and over again he met her every movement until he was certain he could take it no more. And so it was then that he moved a hand to her back and turned them both over so he leaned over her, his mouth on hers as she arched her back against him. "Jon!" Her gasping of his name was unlike anything he'd ever heard before. He could feel her nails clawing their way down his back as she moaned her pleasure, every other breath coming in a gasp as Jon hit the perfect spot. It wasn't much longer before he knew it was over and he spilled into her with a long groan, falling into place on the bed beside her.

They lay side by side a while longer, talking softly as the fire in the hearth became smaller and smaller, until it was just burning embers. "I should go..." She said softly, though she was hesitant to unwrap herself from his warm embrace. Jon hugged her closer, burying his face into her sweet smelling hair.

"Stay," he encouraged, his breath warm against the shell of her ear. "Just stay with me." He knew it was improper, but he suddenly could not imagine his bed without her in it. And so she smiled in the darkness and nodded, snuggling in closer to his warm, naked frame. There she would stay awake long after he'd finally drifted off, happy just to know he finally slept soundly. Happy knowing she had brought him peace of mind, if only for a night. In the morning he would wake and go to war yet again, but she could only hope it would be for the last time.

Closing her eyes, she drifted off to sleep there in his arms, happier than she had been since she'd left home the very first time.


	11. Chapter 11 - Wedding Angst

When Jon hears the Queen in the North is getting married, he gets on his horse and along with Ghost, rides for Winterfell. He knows he doesn't deserve to stand before her, he doesn't deserve to speak to her- but he can't stop himself. Jon thinks back to the two marriages she'd been forced into already and knows he can't let that happen to her again. Queen or no queen, he can't let her be unhappy her whole life.

And so he rides and rides, Ghost excitedly howling as he runs freely for the first time in months. They ride on together through the ice and snow until finally, there in the distance, the tallest tower of Winterfell appears along the skyline. He knew from his constant letters with Sansa that their home had been rebuilt again and they could only hope that it would be for the last time. As he slows to a hault before the gates, the guards on either side look down at him from above before glancing at one another. He doesn't blame them; not only was he a known war criminal, banned to what was left of the wall, he also looks as wild as the Free Folk he'd been living with this last year. The once tamed curls were wild around his face, though his direwolf embossed breastplate was still worn as proudly as ever, it was mostly hidden by the furs he was wrapped in. "Who goes there?" One one of the guards asks, voice booming.

"I am Jon Snow, come to speak to my sister the Queen."

The two guards exchange another glance and it's only then that Ghost appears at his side, the proof of his identity. Though they still look hesitant, the other guard calls for the gate to open and as he rides through, he's not surprised to see Ser Davos there in the courtyard. He had remained behind to serve Sansa as he had once served Jon, though not named Hand to the Queen, he was an important advisor to every choice she made. He slipped from his horse as Davos approached and for a moment they could only stare back at one another. But a moment later, Davos was moving forward, bringing Jon into an embrace that reminds him of the father he'd once had in Ned Stark. "It's been a long time, Jon Snow." Davos said when they separate a few moments later. "I thought you would have come long before now." Truth was, Davos knew that Jon harbored a tremendous amount of guilt over what had happened with Daenerys Targaryen. Though the madness of a Targaryen could not be changed and what happened would have happened eventually, Davos knew the young man felt complicit in the conflict. His banishment felt more self imposed than anything. No, there was only one reason that Jon had come here this day... He heard the Queen was getting married. "Well, you can't see her looking like this." Davos smiles and Jon feels his whole body relax before he nods, allowing Davos to lead him through the courtyard and up a set of stairs.

Though it had been a long time since he'd last been within these walls, they still felt like home.

[ x x x ]

She's alone in her chambers when there comes a knock on her door.

It's late in the evening and in truth, she'd thought herself an early night after a long day of travel and work. She had only just returned from King's Landing that day, where negotiations for her marriage were already underway. The Prince of Dorne had been writing for some time now, a nice enough man and handsome, with wealth and an army that could help keep the North safe... And yet... _He isn't Jon. _She sighs, shaking her head before she calls out permission for the person at her door to enter. The door swings open and its her Hand, Lord Royce, looking agitated. "My lord," she greets as he bows to her, "I thought you were seeing to the unpacking of the carriages." From King's Landing she had brought provisions and gifts alike, enough to fill three whole carriages. Though she had protested against such generosity, both Bran and the Dornish Prince had insisted upon her taking what they'd given.

"Apologies, your grace, but you... Have a visitor, if you should like to see them." Lord Royce sounds as he looks and when she inquires about it, he clears his throat. "It is Jon Snow, my queen." He says by way of explanation and at once Sansa feels her knees give way, forcing her to sink down into the chair she'd just left. "I can send him away, I'm not certain why they let him through at the gate. I will have those guards heads, I assure you-"

Sansa holds up a hand, silencing him; she's thinking, racking her brains over why Jon has come to her so suddenly. "No, it is alright," she finally says with a nod, taking a deep breath as she turns her sapphire eyes onto her Hand. "I will meet him in my solar... Let me change, for I am still in my riding clothes, and I shall see him then." Lord Royce nods and bows, before he backs from her room and closes the door behind him. It takes her only a few moments to find her bearings and rise back up, for she is the Queen and she cannot stray from her duty. And yet... The prospect of _truly _seeing Jon again has left her shaking, heart racing. She can do nothing but think of him while she allows a maid to help her change from her dirty riding dress into something fresh, a new gown of charcoal gray with a black fur pelt draped across her shoulders. The long sweeping sleeves are embroidered with gold flecked thread while her signature necklace hangs around her neck. When her hair is brushed out, she rebraids it herself, pinning it loosely at the back of her head, a few trendils left to frame her face. Only then is she ready.

Rising from her place at her looking glass, she turns to Brienne who has arrived to walk her down the hall to her office. The one that had once belonged to Jon. The two women look at each other for a long moment before Brienne leads her from the room and to a moment that very well could change everything.

[ x x x ]

When the door opens, Jon steps inside without a word, only nodding his thanks to Brienne of Tarth that had allowed him inside. The first thing he notices is her- how can he not, after all? She stands before the hearth, the firelight surrounding her, giving her the look of a fiery goddess. Her red hair is longer than it ever was, though still worn in the braids she'd always favored. She wears no crown, but holds herself like the Queen she was born to be. Her gown is unlike any of the ones he's seen her wear before, but he recognizes the stitching that tells him she still makes them herself. She's as beautiful, no more so, than he remembered.

He takes a few steps closer to her and without a word, he drops to his knees before her, head bowed as he fights to find the words to say. "My queen..." The words are a whisper between them and Sansa feels chills race the length of her spine as he speaks. "I have dreamed of this moment," his honesty surprises both of them, but he watches as her face softens, as her breath catches in her throat. In that moment, Jon can't believe he ever walked away from this perfect creature- but that had been the perfect form of atonement. The one thing he wanted most in this world was her. Even now, all that mattered to him was Sansa. "Even in exile, I've dreamed of you."

His words make her heart flutter but she doesn't let her face change, but rather leans over and slips her hands on either side of his face. "Rise, Jon," she says with a smile she cannot stop, warmth flooding through her entire being starting right there where their skin touched. The moment he's on his feet again, she's rushing into his arms and burying her face into his shoulder. He's warm and strong, his embrace as she remembered, as she too dreamed of. "I've been waiting for you," she speaks softly when she pulls back, staring into the dark eyes she had been missing all these months. "I thought you would come sooner..."

Jon feels the stabbing pain of guilt when the hurt crosses her features. "I just... Couldn't." He says lamely and she laughs at his expense, the sound bringing a smile to his own lips. "But I've missed you, Sansa, more than I've missed anything in all my life." He wishes he could find the words to tell her just how much he's missed her smile, her voice, her skin against his... But truly, there are no words to express the feelings inside of him. And so rather than speaking anymore, Jon pulls her back into his arms, this the only thing he ever could have wanted.

When they finally can pull themselves from one another's grip, they talk; they talk and talk for what very well could have been hours. Though they write often, words on a scroll can never make up for it all, could never replace sitting their in each other's presence. Jon talks of his time at the wall with the Free Folk, who try to name him King but he refuses, as is his nature. Sansa tells him as much and he laughs at his own expense, knowing she's right. She always is. "You know..." His voice draws him from her thoughts and she looks up at him, there in a chair clutching a mug of ale. They had both been drinking and she could feel the warmth of the wine rushing through her. "I had heard you were to be married."

The words fall between them and it clicks in her brain a moment later; _this_ is what brought him to her door so suddenly. She knows she should be elated that he's come for this reason and this reason alone. But at the same time... He could have come whenever he wanted. He could have come the day of her coronation, he could have come the week after. She knew him and knew he felt he had to atone for all that had happened... But he could have done that here, with her, where he belonged. "I am." She says stiffly, shoulders squared, suddenly feeling a lot less at ease than she had ten seconds ago.

"You can't." He says it without hesitation, shaking his head as he sets aside the mug he's been drinking from. Jon supposes he can blame the alcohol for his words, knowing full well what sort of storm they could bring about. "You can't get married."

She blinks, staring at him as if she's only just seen him sitting there. "You don't get to tell me what I can and can't do, Jon. Not anymore." She says sharply, though she softens when she shakes her head a moment later. "I'm the Queen, it's my choice."

"Do you love him?"

Jon's question leaves her stuttering and she jumps to her feet, nearly tripping over the hem of her gown. "You don't get to ask that anymore!" She hisses when she turns back around to face him, chest heaving. He looks every inch the hurt wolf and for a moment, she wants to soften the blow, but she remembers who she is and what he's done to her. "I'm the Queen," she says again with a shake of her head, sadness pooling in her eyes. "I have a realm to protect, people to keep safe. I can't do it alone forever." She's making excuses- of course she doesn't _want _to marry the Prince of Dorne, but things are different now. She must have heirs to protect the North. She must have wealth to provide her country with what it needed, especially now as winter still yet ravaged them. "I couldn't wait forever." She says this so softly Jon can't even be certain she's said it. But the look on her face tells him everything.

And so he rises from his chair and comes to stand before her; he reaches for her hand and brings it to his lips for a kiss. Then he's gone, escaping the room they'd shared these last few hours, knowing it was as she had said... She couldn't wait forever. He had missed his chance all because he had not come to her sooner or even told her the truth of his feelings. But standing there in the room, he knew now she had felt the same... That she still felt the same.

But he'd made his choices and so had she... And so without her he'd have to live.


	12. Chapter 12 - Jonsa Pregnancy

When he comes to her rooms that night, she's sitting before the fire waiting.

At the sound of the door opening, Sansa turns, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of his face. "Sansa," he murmurs as he crosses the room, taking her into his arms the moment she had rose up to her feet. He has been waiting all day for this moment, to hold her in his arms as he couldn't do that morning upon his arrival back to Winterfell. "I've missed you," he breathes into her ear, inhaling the sweet rose water that scents her hair. He's smelled that even in his dreams of her. Jon draws back, holding her at arm's length, taking note only then of her slight pallor, her sapphire eyes seemingly too bright for her pale face. She looks tired, as if she's not slept soundly in all the time he's been away. They wrote often and she had said things were going well at home, that there was only a little unrest from the Lords but she felt like it was all under control. That morning she had seemed herself, never once alerting him that things were amiss. "You are unwell, sweetheart," he says at once, his hand reaching up to stroke her petal soft skin.

She's been rehearsing what she might say to him all these weeks he'd been away, but now that he's here Sansa can't find the words to say. "I'm not unwell, I'm just..." She pauses, shaking her head as she takes hold of his hand, drawing it further down her body until his palm is pressed against her abdomen instead. It takes Jon only a moment to realize what she implies and at once his eyes are widening, their gaze moving from her stomach to her face several times before resting on her face. "That night... Before you left for Dragonstone..." She whispers, reminding him of the single night of passion they had shared, a night he had relived over and over since leaving her side. The thought of her had been all that kept him going those long nights in Dragonstone, at Daenerys' side. The only thing that forced him on, doing things he wasn't proud of, but doing them to ensure her safety, as well as the North's. "Oh, Jon, please say something!" She implores, sapphire eyes filling with tears as she clings to his tunic, fear written plainly across her features. Could it be possible that he was not happy? That in the end his plan to fool Daenerys into helping him defend Winterfell from the Night King had resulted in him falling for her? The dragon queen was lovely, all soft edges, with hair so silver it was almost white. She couldn't blame him, she supposed, for falling for such a beautiful creature such as Daernerys Targaryen.

Jon felt his breath catch, his knees wobbling beneath his breeches, his heart beat steady in his chest. "You've made me the happiest man in all of Westeros," he speaks when he finds his voice, drawing her close to his chest, breathing her in. Inside, he worries, but he worries because now there is just so much more to protect. But a family.. It's all he's ever wanted, after all. "I'll protect you... Both of you," he whispers, putting his hand back to her stomach, smiling when she slips hers over his, giving it a squeeze. "Marry me. Tomorrow morning. Meet me in the godswood, tell no one." They are half siblings, but he won't let his child grow up a bastard nor will he taint her good name by having a baby out of wedlock. There would be talk of course, talk of how two children born of the same father could marry and produce children, but he cared not about that. In truth, even if they had to run away to a place where they were unknown, he would do it, if it meant protecting them both. And it's clear that Sansa doesn't care either, for she gives a single nod, and Jon draws her into his warm embrace once again.

She was all that mattered to him... And their unborn child, of course. He would do anything to protect them. He would face Daenerys' wrath, even her dragon fire. He would face the Northern lords anger and even the slander of his own name. But he would protect her and their child, even if it was the last thing that he did.


	13. Chapter 13 - Jonsa Pregnancy Post S8

For the fifth morning in a row, Sansa wakes up ill.

"My lady..." It's Brienne as she leans over the water basin, holding her red hair back as she throws up a second time. "Are you alright?" She knows her lady and knows that something is wrong- she had begun to notice it weeks ago now. "Shall I call for the maester?"

As Sansa rises up, she feels Brienne's hand to her arm, steadying her where she stands. "There's no need, I know what's wrong with me." She's a slow learner, perhaps, but this is something she knows and knows well. "I'm with child." A flutter of joy races through her, but she dares not be _too_ excited. Not yet, anyways. It was still so early, anything could go wrong. And more than that... It was so very early in her marriage. Would Jon be happy to hear she was carrying his child? Sometimes she still could not help but to doubt the feelings he had for her- their marriage was, as most called it, politically advantageous.

It was true, he claimed he loved her and had all along- despite the sibling ties they once thought they shared. But the way he had looked at the dragon queen... The way he had behaved until the very end... Somewhere, in the very back of her mind, she could not help but to have doubts. Jon had swore to her he had felt nothing for Daenerys Targaryen, but the woman had been so beautiful, so charming, Sansa could not have ever hoped to compete with her. And now that she was gone, sometimes she feared Jon had simply settled for her because it was his duty as King to provide the realm with stability. And stability would only come with a wife and queen that would provide him with children to marry to other noble houses, forming new bonds that would hopefully last for centuries. Sansa knew it was an honor to have been selected as his queen and Jon swore he chose her for love and nothing else... And yet... It was still there in the back of her mind... _What if he hadn't?_

"That's wonderful!" Brienne's voice brings her back and Sansa forces a smile, her good mood suddenly spoiled. "Jon will be delighted." Sansa focuses her gaze on her sworn sword and sees the truth there on her face- Brienne truly did believe in the love Jon had for her. Surely that meant something?

"Yes... I suppose he will be." Sansa says with a slow nod, resolving not to worry about it until she was even certain of how the next few weeks would go.

[ x x x ]

He wishes she would just talk to him.

_It's too early too have lost love between us, _Jon worries as he settles in for the night, droplets of rain a soft swell of music outside his window. _She must be angry with me... but for what? _He curses aloud, cursing both himself and the young woman he loved so dearly. Sansa had grown somewhat distant- she was kind as always, her sweet smile never straying far from her rosy lips... And yet... Jon feels it every time, the soft tug of heartache. As if everything is not as it should be. _I must talk to her. _He rises up from his bed, knowing he'd never go to sleep if he didn't.

It was yet another night of her sleeping away from his chambers, though he can't say why. When they had first wed only three months ago, she had kept his bed warm every night as winter slipped away. But now, she had not come to his rooms for nearly two weeks now. He's racked his brains for days now, trying to recall what it was he'd done to deserve her displeasure. Arriving to her rooms, he raised his hand as if to knock, but thought on it and instead pushed the door open without even a word.

When the door opens, she's about to climb into her bed; his chest is heaving, worry carved deep into his features. "What have I done?" He asks without preamble, his dark eyes frantically searching her face for the answer. "What have I done to offend you so?"

"Jon..." She says his name softly and it draws him towards her, though he seems hesitant to approach. "It's not as you think, it's just..."

"It's just what, Sansa?" He says with more venom than he means. Surprise changes her features and she arches a brow, a silently posed question. "You have all but ignored me! Tell me what I have done for you to avoid me all these weeks?" He's hurt in truth and Sansa blinks, realizing it with such a sudden severity that she thought she might stumble. No, she realizes it only a moment later that she's feeling faint and the stumble is quite real.

Jon sees her sink before she realizes it's even happening. "Careful, sweetheart," his voice is a whisper against her ear as his warm grip steadies her. "There you go," he murmurs as he gently places her into her bed, propped up against a mountain of pillows as she sips the ale he's given to her. "I try to talk of my feelings and you faint? Some might call that attention seeking, my love." They both share a chuckle and she's already feeling better, though she suspects it's not just the ale that makes her warm.

"Oh!" She gasps suddenly, thrusting the mug away from her. "I can't drink this." She says, sapphire eyes widening as his gaze finds hers. It only takes a momet for her to realize what she's said and only a moment longer for Jon to understand. He leaps from his place on the edge of her bed, hands going up with his shock.

"Is it true... You're... You're with child?" Jon asks slowly, gazing down at her there on her bed, those big blue eyes of hers still able to swallow him whole. She stares back up at him for what could have been an eternity before she gave a single, solemn nod. The sound he lets out is a both a cry of shock and of joy; at once he surges forward, taking her into his arms for an embrace like he's never given her before. "A babe?" He's running his hands down her body then, his palm outstretched over the flat plane of her belly. She can't help but to laugh at his expense, the joy and surprise written all over his face. The dark cloud of doubt she'd felt these last few weeks had already begun to dissipate, leaving behind a fire that raged within her very soul.

"You're happy?" She asks before she can stop herself. She needs to hear him say the words, she needs him to tell her that this is what he wants.

For a moment, he stares at her, her question catching him off guard. But then his face softens and its as if he already understands her, completely and utterly. It's only then that he catches her face between his palms, drawing her mouth to his for a soft kiss that steals her breath. "I'm happier than any man deserves." He whispers as he tips his forehead down to meet hers, his mouth so close she can feel his lips curve with his smile. "Never doubt the love I have for you," he's trailing soft, gentle kisses down her jaw, running a hand through her red hair as she tips her head back, breathing him in as her pulls her in. "Or for him." His hand strays to her stomach a few moments later and she's laughing again, though a fresh wave of tears cling to her lashes.

"Or her." She ammends, to which Jon nods. How could she have ever doubted this man?

"Or her." He agrees as her hands close over his, knowing without a doubt he was the happiest man alive.


	14. Chapter 14 - Talk after Parentage Reveal

"Sansa... Wait."

He catches her by the hand, forcing her to turn back to face him there beneath the heart tree. She's forgotten her gloves and her skin is cold... And yet it still lights a fire within him. Behind her, Arya turns back but they meet eyes over Sansa's shoulder and she shrugs as if to tell him _good luck, _before she turns back and continues pushing Bran back towards Winterfell. "Sansa, about before... About in the war council...What I said..."

"You don't have to explain yourself." She snaps suddenly and though her tone implies danger, Jon shakes his head. "You made your thoughts quite clear."

"You don't understand." He says softly, as if these three words would make her see.

"You're right... I don't." She seethes through gritted teeth, pulling her hand from his grasp and turning to go. But again, Jon takes her by the hand, forcing her back around. "Let me go." Her sapphire eyes are narrowed, but her lips tremble as she tries to hold herself together. "You've made your choice, Jon." The words slip free before she can stop them and only then does Jon let her go, shock registering on his features.

"You don't understand," he says again, feeling hopeless as he looks at the girl he'd fallen in love with, the girl he once called sister. The truth was there on the tip of his tongue... If only the words would come. If only he could say them aloud.

"I understand that you've chosen her over me-" she stops fast, a crimson blush staining her cheeks as she realizes what she's just said. Jon's head snaps up and their eyes meet, his mouth falling open with his shock. "The North... You've chosen her over the _North._" She tries to fix her mistake, but there's no taking it back now. Now he's heard the truth from her own lips.

"_You are the North_." He whispers, taking a single step towards her, closing the gap between them. "Sansa, please... Listen to me!" He cups her cheeks with his palms when she tries to look away. "I swore I would protect you... I'm trying to do just that." Tears fill her eyes and he swipes the first droplets from her skin with a brush of a thumb. "She's on the edge, I know you can see that. Everyone can." In his chest, his heart beats faster than it's ever beat in all his life. "If you continue to provoke her..." He heaves a sigh, shaking his head. "Even I can't protect you from her once you're her enemy."

She's beginning to understand now- the distance he continued to put between them, the secret looks with the dragon queen... Was it not as she feared, then? Was it not love for Daenerys Targaryen that kept him from her side, but rather fear? For a moment, she's reminded of the conversation she had with Daenerys just days before and the flicker of hope she'd had for Jon then. _Have you no faith in me at all? _He himself had asked her those words and she'd not been lying when she told him that she did. And yet... She could not help but to doubt him. How could she not?

"Do you understand?" He's asking her and after a long beat of silence, she nods. She watches as relief floods his face and for a moment longer they remain as they are, his hands on her face, their gazes unwavering. "I swear it to you, everything I've done has been to protect you." Without Sansa, he had nothing. Here in this moment, he knew things could change, he knew they could be different. Gone were their sibling ties- the only thing that had ever kept him from acting on the feelings he felt deep within himself. But now... His fear for her life outweighed anything else. The last thing he ever would do would be to put her into more danger with Daenerys. "Promise me you won't provoke her. It's only one more night."

At his words, she presses her lips together, frowning. "Only if you promise me you'll come back." She whispers, true fear tugging at her heart. "Promise me, Jon." His hands have long since slid from her cheeks and she reaches for them then, flushing when he suddenly draws her into a tight embrace.

"I'll always come back to you," he says, voice muffled as he buries his face into her neck, breathing in her familiar scent. Suddenly, with her in his arms, it mattered not who saw them in such a way. "Always."


	15. Chapter 15 - Jon vs Dorne Prince

Jon is jealous though he knows he has no right to be.

It's just every single time he sees Sansa with _him, _he gets so irrationally angry that he can't even see straight. He had only just returned to Winterfell, free from his banishment after a long, cold year. Though part of him had been afraid to return, afraid of how she would take to him, he had been welcomed back with open arms and Jon was certain he would never stray from her side for the rest of his life. They had not talked much about what was certainly between them, but that would take time, he supposed, besides... She seemd quite occupied when it came to the matter of her heart.

The Prince of Dorne, Quentyn Martell, had been making many attempts at courting Sansa since her coronation. He had written numerous letters as well as sent crates of lemons as gifts to her, for he'd learned of her love of lemoncakes. Sansa had laughed over the situation, dismissing Jon's suggestion that the man would someday make a true bid for her hand in marriage. And then, only a few days later, a raven had come from Dorne with a request to make a visit to Winterfell, to formally meet with the Queen in the North. It would be the first time a Dornish royal would set foot in the North and Sansa had agreed, telling him it would do well to cement peace among the nations. Though war was far from anyone's mind, there would always be tension, especially with the North becoming independent while the other nations remained as one.

That had been a month ago now and Quentyn Martell had been at Winterfell for a few days, having arrived just the week before. It seemed as if every where he looked, Sansa was on his arm, smiling or laughing, though in private she called him dull and pompous. It was true, the Prince of Dorne seemed somewhat cocky and Jon saw the way he looked at her... As if she were meat on a plate, as if she were nothing more than something put there for his very benefit. And Jon didn't like it.

They had been feasting this night and it was growing late. Jon glanced up to the high table from where he sat below and saw Quentyn lean in to whisper in Sansa's ear; she looked down into her lap, biting her lower lip. Only Jon knew that look, only he understood her discomfort at whatever it was the Dornish prince had asked. The man was speaking again and Sansa looked up, her eyes darting out to the main room before they settled back onto Quentyn. She gave what seemed to be the most reluctant of nods before allowing him to help her to her feet, looping her arm through his. And then, Jon watched as the man steered her out the door along the back wall, one which led down a hallway that would lead out to the main floor of Winterfell.

Jon rises to his feet too and pushes through the still crowded room; apparently no one has noticed their queen slip away and so it is up to him to see to her well being. He goes through the door they had gone through and freezes, seeing them standing at very end. Quentyn has Sansa pressed up against the wall, kissing her. Jon can barely contain his fury, watching for a long, nauseating moment as Sansa endures his hands wandering before one firmly plants itself at her hip, the other sliding into her long red hair. He can't imagine what she must feel right then, but he can see it in her body... The tension, the fear, it's all clearly there for Jon to see.

And so he takes a single step forward, as if he means to interrupt, when Sansa suddenly pushes him away. Now he can see her face and it boils his blood; fear is written all over her perfect features, paling her skin and darkening her eyes. She says something to him but Quentyn chuckles, shaking his head as he leans in to kiss her yet again. Sansa again pushes him back and she side steps away from him, speaking in a tone much harsher than the first it seemed for the Dornish prince pulled back, looking surprised, yet amused. He watched her stalk away, through the door that led out into the main hall, reaching up to run his hand through his dark hair.

When he turned around, Jon was there.

"Lord Snow, spying are you?" Quentyn Martell asked when he'd recovered from his shock, eyeing the young Northern bastard with an arched brow. It was rumored that the queen favored this man in a way no woman should favor a man she once called brother. It was true, Jon Snow was not her brother, but they had grown up as such, and surely that meant something.

"Touch her again and I'll kill you where you stand," Jon says in a voice that is strangely calm. He thinks back to when he cornered Petyr Baelish for uttering the words that he loved Sansa and he would dearly love to choke slam this bastard too, but remained still where he stood. "In fact... If you dare to even _look_ at her again, I'll kill you."

Quentyn Martell looks like he might punch him, but the prince scoffs and pushes past Jon, disappearing through the door that led him back into the great hall. Jon turns back to stare at the spot Sansa had once stood, vowing to himself that his vow to protect her would never go unfinished. Until his last breath, he would protect her with his life.

[ x x x ]

When Jon entered her chambers the next morning, he found her seated at her looking glass. Shae met his gaze, dipping him a quick curtsy before she left the room, leaving the pair alone. Jon didn't know Shae well yet, but something told him she felt the same as he did when it came to the Prince of Dorne. "It seems Quentyn Martell has left Winterfell, just this morning." Sansa says as she turned around on her chair, rising up to face him. "A sudden matter arose in Dorne that needs his attention."

Jon says nothing as Sansa comes to stand in front of him. She stares at him with a knowing look in her eyes before she smiles, leaning in to brush her lips against his cheek. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice warm against the shell of his ear. Jon's arms twitch with longing, the need to wrap her in them suddenly beyond his control. She sinks into his embrace, burying her face into his shoulder as Jon breathes in the sweet scent of her hair.

He had said he would always protect her- that meant from _everything, _even foreign princes longing to marry her. No matter the threat, he would squash it. He would keep her safe if it was the last thing he did.


	16. Chapter 16 - Through Ghost's Eyes

He caught the scent before the gate even opened.

Hearing the guard's cry, Ghost trotted along towards the center of the courtyard as the three horses came through the gate. He recognized the scent, though faint as it was, and the red hair even more. It was his master's sister. Her scent was faded, overpowered by fear and isolation, and the wolf knew this girl was not the one that had once petted him kindly, that had stroked his white fur when all others turned away. This was a new girl entirely, one forged of ice and snow, a woman who needed protected. Ghost growled low in his throat when a man approached from the side and he stepped back. No one would interrupt what was to happen next.

Another scent caught his attention and the wolf swiveled his gaze to where his master now stood, high on the stairs that led out from the dining hall. Ghost had never seen such a look upon his face. He watched as Jon came down the stairs, making his way into the center of the courtyard where the young woman now stood. Now that he was closer, Ghost could smell the shock coursing through his master's veins, could hear the subtle change in his breathing pattern- it never caught in his throat in such a way before.

It was a moment later that Ghost watched as she flung herself towards Jon and he caught her with ease, burying into her embrace as if she were the only thing real in his world. Ghost was a wolf but he knew his master had been dead only days before. Now he was alive again and suddenly, the purpose was making itself known.

[ x x x ]

Her touch was as gentle as he remembered.

It was times like these that Ghost wished he could speak, for he wanted to ask her so many questions. She still yet smelled of sorrow and fear, though the scents had diminished somewhat in her weeks with Jon and him. There was no trace of Lady's scent upon her and Ghost felt the pang of sorrow for his lost sibling who would have protected this girl when no one else had. Ghost slept in her rooms each night and knew she suffered horrific nightmares that left her crying in the dark; he would climb further up into her bed then, squishing himself as small as he could go so she might hold onto him and calm herself until she fell asleep clutching him close.

On this particular day, it was well into the morning and she still yet remained in her rooms. She had not even dressed herself, though she was usually quite meticulous of such things. Ghost had remained awake with her nearly all night, so distraught was she after waking from a single dream that had her retching into a bucket beside her bed when she woke. And she'd never gone back to sleep after, thus leaving them to sit together in her bed until she finally climbed from it to instead sit in a chair beside the fire, he at her side. And that was where they still yet sat now, she absently stroking his head as she stared into the fire without seeing at all.

And it was where they sat when there came a knock on the door a moment before it opened. Ghost turned to see his master as he came into the room, gently shutting the door behind him before he slowly approached where Sansa and he sat before the fire. Jon took several long moments to take in the sight of the young woman- hair disheveled, nightgown wrinkled, face pale and drawn, and blue eyes rimmed with dark circles. All telltale signs that she'd not slept the night before or for many nights now. Only Ghost could hear the catch of Jon's breath, only he could hear the slight waver in his voice when he finally spoke her name. Watching his master's reaction to the pitiful sight that was Sansa only proved to the wolf the depth of his feelings for her.

He strayed towards the bed as Jon knelt down at Sansa's side, touching her hand, jogging her from the fog that was her mind. Ghost watched as she crumpled, flinging herself into his arms- the only place she felt safe- and could smell the scent of her tears... And Jon's, though he hid them well from her as he held fast to her sobbing frame.

A little while later when she had cried all her tears and fell asleep, Jon carefully rose up from the floor with her body in his arms. Onto her bed he placed her, tucking her beneath the fur lined blankets. He then grabbed the chair she'd once been sitting in and dragged it to sit beside her bed, watching over her as she finally slept, and Ghost lay at his feet knowing this would certainly become a new part of their lives; watching over the girl they loved.


	17. Chapter 17- Arya Knows

When she's sneaking through the empty corridors of Winterfell, she doesn't expect to stumble across anyone. It's late into the night and she's attempting to find the belongings she once had as a child, packed away into god knows where when those blasted Bolton's took Winterfell over. In truth, she's not even certain they'll even be here, they could have easily been destroyed over the years. Sansa had said she wasn't ready to look for such things- to hold their mother's gowns and touch the items she'd once cherished as a child. All reminders of a life she wished she'd never left behind.

And so that's left it up to Arya to seek these things out.

Because of the late hour, she expects to find no one, so she's suprised when she hears what sounds like muffled voices coming from a room that once was servant quarters. Arya pauses before the door, listening intently until she hears what sounds like a pleasured gasp from within. She knows that sound, for had her own lips not uttered such a sound two nights earlier when she was with Gendry? A smirk toys with her lips and she can't help but to push on the door, opening it only a crack so she might peek inside. What she expects to see is an unnamed soldier and a maid, or perhaps someone she knows that she might tease relentlessly over catching them in such an act... It must be good, if they were this far into the castle in a room that had been unused for years now.

What she doesn't expect to see however, is Jon with his breeches around his knees. Arya's eyes widen and she makes to shut the door, for this is _not_ at all what she wants to see her brother doing, not ever. But then the girl he's with makes a sound and her heart skips a beat. She _knows_ that voice. So she puts her eye back to the crack in the door and watches for just another second, as Jon shifts just enough so Arya can catch a glimpse of the red hair that cascades across the bed. It was Sansa.

Arya shuts the door and steps back, surprise rushing through her. But then she smirks, shaking her head as a chuckle escapes her lips. She should have known, in truth, for even she had seen the way those two had looked at each other. Especially since Jon's true parentage had been revealed. Though some might call it strange, Arya only cared for her family's happiness. If they made one another happy, who was she to speak against them? She only wishes they might have been honest with her rather than risk being caught in such an act together.

She makes her way further down the corridor, dipping into another room that's packed full of trunks covered in dust. In there she would search for the belongings she had once held, though her thoughts couldn't help but to turn to Jon and Sansa just down the hall from her. In the end, she only hoped for their happiness. Jon certainly didn't seem happy with that damned dragon queen on his arm and Sansa seemed miserable ever since he'd returned home a few weeks before. So long as they were happy, that was what mattered to her.


	18. Chapter 18 - Sansa Illness 2

It was two months after her coronation that Sansa woke and knew what she had to do.

Rising up from her bed, she was not surprised to find Shae had already lit the fire and set out her warm, fur-lined robe. Pulling it on over her nightgown, Sansa crossed the room to look out her window, the darkness of early morning broken only by the pink streaks of light upon the horizon. "Your grace?" She turned, smiling faintly as she faced the woman that had been her only friend in King's Landing, one of the only people she could trust with her every secret, with her very life. "It's early," though they've been apart many years, Shae still yet knows her mistress' routines and this is early for her to rise.

"It is," Sansa says with a nod, before turning back around to face the window, looking out into the courtyard below. "Prepare my warmest clothes, will you?" Shae arched a brow, blinking in surprise, but nods when the young woman turned back around to face her. "I have somewhere I must go," her tone is almost mischievous, a tone Shae had not heard from her save but one or two times in King's Landing. When Shae nodded and backed out of the room to do as she was bid, Sansa can't help but to smile.

Today, she would fetch Jon home, no matter what he said.

[ x x x ]

When Jon woke, it was to a raging winter storm out his window.

His days at Castle Black had been moving painfully slow, so slow in fact he thought time had stopped entirely. He missed her, so much so that it hurt, and most days he didn't even want to leave his bed. But, he supposed he had a new role in life and he had traded his needs and his wants for her safety. If a life without her meant her survival, he would live alone the rest of his days. He would survive on the memory of her and the snippets of gossip that flowed along to the wall from Winterfell.

The storm outside told him that there would be little to do and so he shivered into his clothes and threw kindling into the hearth, watching as the old embers sprung back to life. Awakened by Jon's movements, Ghost rose up from where he'd slept on the floor beside the bed to instead sit at his side before the fire, head cocked as if he were listening to the howls of the wind outside. Jon stood before the hearth for several long minutes, warming himself as he mentally prepared himself to dress to go outside. Storm or no storm, he would still have to see to his men and ensure all was well, especially the Free Folk that were not all within the warm walls of the castle.

Suddenly at his feet, Ghost rumbled.

"What is it boy?" Jon asked, reaching down to touch the wolf's remaining ear in a comforting sort of rub. Ghost growled again and rushed toward the door, pawing at it until Jon crossed the room and let him out. "What's gotten into him?" Jon murmured as he watched the wolf race down the stairs and out into the courtyard, disappearing into the swirling snow outside. Shaking his head, Jon turned back to his rooms and decided he'd wasted enough time avoiding his duties and shrugged on the well worn cloak Sansa had given him some time ago. He fingered the direwolves stamped into the leather and thought of her- of her fire kissed hair and sapphire eyes, of her sweet smile and saucy temper. He'd give anything to see her again, in truth, but this was where he belonged now.

And so he went out of his rooms and into the storm, the thought of her enough to keep him warm even on the coldest of days.

[ x x x ]

It was strange, being the Northern queen that would die in a snow storm.

The storm had hit them fast and hard when they had been only an hour or so from Castle Black. She staggered as she trudged through the knee deep snow, her chest tight and her legs threatening to give way beneath her. She'd been here one time before, when she'd escaped Winterfell and Ramsay Bolton, but back then Theon had been with her and now she was utterly alone. She had become separate from her two guards and in truth she didn't know if they lived or died.

Though she knew she couldn't stop, her legs were slowly losing their ability to keep going and she was just so very tired. The cold was biting and she was fearful of the damage it could do to her if she didn't find some sort of shelter soon. But it was then that she stumbled and with a cry she pitched forward into the snow.

Sansa lay there for what felt like a lifetime, willing herself to rise up from the ice and snow, but it seemed as if her body had simply given up. She was too cold, too tired to think beyond how falling asleep might have just been easier… But then she heard it, the piercing cry that broke through the wind, a sound she would always know. A wolf's howl? She opened her eyes, struggling to at least sit upright, did I imagine it? And yet, there it came again, closer this time! Lady… She thought of her own wolf, long dead, and wondered if perhaps it was her coming to lead her to the next life. She closed her eyes and sank further into the snow. This would be it.

And then she felt it, the soft press of a cold nose against her cheek, against her neck. Reaching up, Sansa felt shaggy fur beneath her gloved hands and knew, without a doubt, a wolf had come to her. She opened her eyes and had it not been for the red eyes, she'd not have even been able to see the animal. Ghost! She dared not believe it, despite holding onto the wolf with her own two hands. It was as if Jon himself had appeared to her there in the snow, the knight she had always longed for as a girl.

Ghost whined in her ear, his nose stuck into her armpit, his strength forcing her up onto her knees. She could hear him then, she could hear Jon as if he whispered into her ear, telling her she had to get up. And so she did, somehow, someway, she rose up from the snow and took the first trembling step forward. Ghost remained at her side, his pace slow to match hers, a tuft of his fur clutched between her fingers. And they walked on and on, for how long she wasn't certain, but eventually through the storm she could see the gate that would lead her to Jon.

It was only then that Ghost left her side; she sank to the ground, watching as he ran through an opening to the left of the gate. She'd come all this way… She had finally reached Castle Black. And that was when the world went black.

[ x x x ]

Jon was standing on the battlements when he first heard Ghost's howl; the storm had finally begun to relent and the wolf's cry was piercing through the snow. He felt his stomach sink, a strange feeling taking root in his heart a moment before Ghost appeared in the courtyard, yapping and growling at the two wildlings that stood about. They had grown used to his presence, but the wolf seemed nearly out of control and they both backed away looked frightened. Jon took to the stairs and as his feet touched the ground, Ghost was there, nipping at his hands, growling low in his chest. "What is it?" Jon spoke more calmly than he felt and the wolf stopped for only a moment, his red eyes staring deep into his own. He couldn't say what it was, but Jon thought of Sansa and his heart turned over in the worst of ways. "Come on then," he said to the wolf, gesturing for his companion to go on. Ghost took off for the gate, pausing only once to ensure his master was following after him.

Tormund had joined him by the time they opened the gates and the wildling glanced at the wolf. "Bit upset, isn't he?" The man asked as they stepped out of the gate, both looking left and then right. Jon didn't answer him, for it suddenly felt as if he'd been punched in the gut, the very breath stolen from his lungs.

Ghost had surged forward and was circling a body laying in the snow, whining until Jon found his footing and took a step towards him. No, he thought as he approached, telling himself over and over again that there was no way, that there was absolutely no way this was her. But as he knelt down beside the body, he caught sight of her face, slightly obscured by her hood, and then he knew. It was her… It was Sansa.

[ x x x ]

So warm… She felt as if she were floating, a warm and wonderful feeling. It was then that she snapped awake with a gasp, chest heaving as she looked all around her, suddenly well aware that she was not where she had thought she would be. And she was… She was alive! Everything came flooding back to her then; leaving Winterfell, the snow storm, becoming lost in the cold. And Ghost… Ghost had found her! Shifting on the bed she lay in, she noticed the wolf laying at the foot of her bed, nearly too big to do so. But he'd curled up as small as he could, all so he could remain close to her.

And if Ghost was there, surely that meant… Yes, now that she looked around the room, she knew at once where she was. A coughing fit suddenly racked her frame and she could feel the pain in her chest of illness. She had lived through the storm, it was true, but this illness could be the end of her.

The door to the room opened and it was Jon rushing into the room, a bowl of water cast aside so fast he nearly upended it. "Sansa!" His voice rang out as his hands placed themselves upon her shoulders, gently pushing her back down against the pillows. "Shhh, soft sweetheart," he murmured as he stroked her hair, leaning over her to brush his lips against her forehead. Her fever had broken, he noticed at once, relief rushing through him as he settled back into the chair he had abandoned only a few minutes before. "You must be thirsty," he spoke softly, reaching for the goblet of water that sat on the bedside table. He slipped one arm beneath her shoulders, helping her upright while he tipped the goblet against her lips, giving her a single taste of cold water that quenched her aching throat.

When he had once again settled her back against the pillows, he could not stop himself from reaching out to brush a lock away from her sweaty forehead. "You gave me a fright," he finally said, his fingers ghosting along the curve of her rosy cheek. "Next time you might just write to me." He chuckled and she smiled, the sound of his laughter better than any song ever could be. "You could have died, what were you thinking?" He asked, sobering then as he recalled just how close she had come to death. He had never felt that kind of fear before.

"I want you to come home."

Sansa's voice, though tired, is the sweetest thing he has truly ever heard. "Sansa…" He shook his head, as if trying to clear his mind, when in truth he only is trying to find the words to tell her he couldn't. And yet… Wasn't that all he had wanted? Everything he had done… It had been so he could go home with her. "That sounds like something you could have written me," he said instead, causing her to laugh which turned to another coughing fit. "I can't go home, you know that." Those are not the words he wanted to say to her, but this was his punishment. He had been banished here to Castle Black, at least in the same kingdom as her. He looked down, away from her, unable to look her in the face when he said such words.

"You will go where your queen commands," her reply is sharp, but she's all rounded edges when Jon looked up at her again. "When Bran sent you here… He put your fate into my hands instead." Jon sat back, narrowing his eyes in thought, a new feeling rushing through him. "I am the Queen in the North and all of the North is under my command… Even Castle Black… Even you. And so you will do as your queen commands." Jon doesn't dare believe her, though he knows it to be true. Of course it was true. But did he deserve such happiness? Suddenly, he felt her hand on his, squeezing it, reminding him of the reason he had to live at all. He remembered the last time she had stumbled into Castle Black looking for him- just days after he had been brought back to life. Back then, he had felt no purpose… At least until she arrived. She had breathed life back into him, had given him a reason to wake up every single day. He had gone to war for her (twice) and killed a queen for her. He would do it again, if it meant protecting her. Jon knew he had a choice to make now, a choice that could change his whole life.

"And what does my queen command?" His question brought a smile to her face a moment before she spoke.

"Come home."


	19. Chapter 19 - Jaime Knows

Jaime has only been in Winterfell for a few weeks when he realizes Jon is in love with his sister. He's noticed their longing stares from across the room, he's noticed the way Jon's lip curls when any man speaks her name, and he's noticed the way Sansa glares at Daenerys Targaryen whenever her attention is upon him. Jaime knows all of these things for were they not all things he himself had experienced, back when he was in love with his own sister? He recalls the way he had to merely watch as Cersei married another man, as she was flirted with and flirted back with men of court, and how they had to hide their romance at every turn. Of all men, Jaime Lannister knows what it's like to love a woman you're forbidden to love.

He's laughing at the absurdity of it all when he's climbing into bed beside Brienne again, a habit he's begun since that first night after the battle with the Night King. "What are you laughing at?" She asks from where she sits, already beneath the furs though she's propped up against her pillows. Jaime leans in to kiss her on the mouth, amused when she flushes with pleasure.

"Your little lady, Sansa Stark," he says as he leans back against his own pillow. Brienne leans forward, arching a brow. He's treading dangerous waters, speaking ill of her beloved Sansa Stark. "Soft, sweet knight, I mean no offense in my laughter. I mean I am laughing at how she and Jon Snow are quite in love, though it seems even they don't know it yet." Brienne makes a face and Jaime chuckles, reaching out to tap her on the forehead. "See, it is as I thought. No one knows but me."

"In love? They aren't in love. They're brother and sister, half yes, but brother and sister all the same." Brienne shakes her head, surprised when Jaime again chuckles and shakes his own head. She can't help but to think about what he's said then, recalling all of the moments of her own witnessing that she had questioned but pushed away. "You can't be serious," Brienne says beneath her breath, though it's a question posed more at herself than at him. She's thinking of the looks shared between the two- the moments she's interrupted, never inappropriate, but some close contact. She's thinking about how the day of Jaime's arrival, Sansa and Jon had disappeared through the same doorway after the trial, only to reappear some hours later. She's thinking about the night before Jon left for Dragonstone when they had closed themselves off into his rooms for a night. "Seven hells, you're right, aren't you?"

Jaime shrugs, but he's smiling because he knows he is. And so does Brienne. "Just be glad she's happy with a man for once," Jaime says, drawing her attention away from the bombshell she's just learned. "Siblings or not, wrong or not, she's happy. And that's something she deserves, isn't it?" Brienne regards him for a long moment before she gives a single nod. He's right, after all. Brienne loved Sansa Stark more than anyone else in the world and her happiness was all that mattered to her- so it was as Jaime had said... Brother or not, if Sansa loved Jon and he loved her, then she didn't care. So long as she was happy.


	20. Chapter 20 - Jon Rescues Sansa

"A raven, Lord Commander."

Jon looks up from his desk, littered with dozens of other scrolls he's been sent these last few weeks. The boy flushes when Jon smiles upon him, tired as it is, and backs away without another word, leaving Jon to unroll the parchment. It's sealed with a seal he only knows because he's heard of it before: the flayed man. It's from the Bolton's. His blood begins to boil, as it always does when he thinks of these usurpers sitting within his home. He's been working tirelessly to band together his men with the Free Folk so there might be enough of them to take Winterfell back, in the name of House Stark.

He unfolds the parchment and begins to read.

_To the bastard Jon Snow, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch,_

_I have heard you mean to take up arms against me, your Lord of Winterfell, which I'm sure you know the punishment. I encourage you to think of what you intend on doing and what harm it will bring those you care for. Even now your old playmate Theon Greyjoy plays in my dungeons, torn to so many pieces it's a wonder he still yet stands. And your dear sister, Sansa Stark is my lady wife. Perhaps you had not heard such a thing. She keeps my bed warm enough, though she's the most unwilling wife any man has been saddled with. Remember these things, when you think of taking up an army against me. Remember who is Lord of Winterfell now and who I hold in my grasp. _

_Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North,_

_Ramsay Bolton. _

Jon can barely breathe. He stares at the letter until his vision is blurred, the parchment clutched so tightly in his fists that it begins to tear. He jumps up from his desk and rushes from the room- he will take back Winterfell, if it's the last thing he does.

[ x x x ]

At night when she's alone, Sansa thinks about Jon.

She thinks about the only family she has left in this world, her bastard half brother, the boy who had always looked more Stark than any of the rest of them. Save for Arya, maybe. She thinks about him, so far, yet so close, at Castle Black, where he is Lord Commander. It's stupid and it's childish, but she dreams of him riding into Winterfell with an army at his back to save her from Ramsay Bolton and take back Winterfell in the name of House Stark. She had once dreamed such a dream back in King's Landing, when she had hoped that Robb would ride in on a white horse and save her from the Lannister's. Back then it had only been a dream and she knew it to be just a dream now as well. But she could not help but to hope, it was all that got her through some nights.

On this very night, Ramsay had only just left her rooms. Upon her skin he'd left new bruises and her bones ache with the memory of his hands upon her. She sits in the window, staring out into the snowy courtyard, wondering if she would ever again feel happiness. Tears sting her eyes but she blinks them away- there's no use left in crying. For a moment, she contemplates what it would feel like if she threw herself from this very window. The height would be enough to kill her, certainly. Her hand shakes as she reaches out, fingertips tracing along the frosty glass until she slides her nails beneath the edge and pulls it open. The cold winter air blasts her in the face and she shudders, not from cold but from fear. But what could be worse than this?

It's as she's rising to her feet that the door opens and she turns, thinking it to be Ramsay come back for round two. But it's Theon- no, Reek as he's called now, standing there. "M-my lady," he stammers, coming into the room to force the window closed once more. She stares at him and he stares back, as if he understands her completely. "You'll catch a cold," is all he says though, ushering her away from the window, towards the bed that she can't stomach sleeping in. Most nights she sits up in the chair before the fire or curls up among the furs on the floor.

"Jon is coming," she says with a certainty she doesn't feel, watching as Theon's expression changes only slightly. Only enough for her to notice. It's a flicker of surprise, of hope, that creeps into his eyes as he peers back at her. "He is." She says when he says nothing. "He is," she whispers, hugging herself as she sinks into the chair.

"He is, my lady," Theon whispers back with a nod, knowing Jon Snow well enough to believe that he would fight with everything he had to take back Winterfell, to take Sansa away from Ramsay Bolton. "He will come."

[ x x x ]

When Jon's joint army of the Night's Watch and the Free Folk descend upon Winterfell in the dead of night two weeks later, no one is more surprised than Ramsay Bolton. The bastard born Bolton had thought himself untouchable, had thought himself the winner in all things, and so when he was roused from sleep by the ringing of war bells, he could barely believe what was happening.

It took only two hours for Jon and his army to take back full control of Winterfell and the moment he stepped off of the battlefield, he went looking for her. As he roamed the halls of what had once been his home, he felt lost. His feet no longer knew their way as they had once known as a child. "Jon," a voice draws him from his thoughts and he turns around, finding himself face to face with a man he barely recognizes. "She's this way," Theon says, gesturing for Jon to follow him down another hall. "In here," he says when they approach a door deep in the back of the castle, one which Jon is certain he's never been to in all his life within these walls.

"Thank you," Jon replies softly, with meaning, reaching out to clasp Theon upon the shoulder as a brother might do. He's surprised when the man flinches, as if he expects a beating instead. More anger rises up within him and Jon is fearful for the state he will find Sansa in. But he opens the door to her rooms and enters, allowing his eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness before he calls out her name. "Sansa...?"

The commotion of battle had woken her from her fitful sleep, though Sansa could not quite say who had come to fight. She dared not believe it was him, not even when she saw the Stark banner unravel down from the battlements on the other side of the courtyard from where her rooms stood. Not even when she hears the door opening does she dare believe it's Jon come to save her. _Sansa... _But then he speaks her name and she turns, blinking in the darkness, very little light coming from the dying embers in her hearth. "Jon?" She asks, his name foreign on her lips, her heart skipping a beat within her chest.

He comes a step closer, dark eyes taking in the sight of her standing there in the darkness of her room. She looks thin, ragged, her gown old and torn, hanging from her frame like it'd not fit in months. He can only imagine what she must look like in the light. "It's me..." He whispers a moment before she begins to fall, her knees buckling beneath her. Jon surges forward, catching her before she hits the floor, cradling her weak, starving body to his chest. "I'm here, I'm here," he says over and over again, pressing his lips against her temple, against the top of her head, anywhere he can as he holds her as close as he dares. She's crying, gut wrenching sobs unlike any he's ever heard, and it's all he can do to keep himself together.

She still can't believe it, he's come... He's come for her like she had been dreaming of since her marriage to Ramsay Bolton some months before. The last piece of her family was at her side, holding her in his arms, and she was no longer going to be alone. She was finally going to be safe again. And so she buries her face into his chest and sinks into his embrace, allowing him to warm her from the inside out.

She's safe... She's safe.


	21. Chapter 21 - Not in the Crypts

He just wants to reach the Godswood, he just wants to protect Bran. He just wants to stop the Night King before it's too late. Jon stares up at what used to be a living dragon, reduced to being an ice puppet pulled along by the strings of the Night King, and knows his only way to Bran's side is just past this damned dragon. If he looks past it, he will see the godswood, he will see Bran there and at least know he still yet lives.

And so he cranes his neck from behind the rock he cowers behind and it's not Bran that he sees. It's her, it's Sansa. Her red hair is like beacon in the darkness, shining in the torchlight that Theon holds standing before her. Jon feels his stomach sink to his knees, his breath stolen from his very lungs. What was she doing there? Arya had sworn she sent her down to the crypts where she would be kept safe from harm. His heart begins to pound in a way it hadn't been until that very moment. Suddenly, there was a new reason for him to reach the godswood. And as much as he loved Bran, it was one more important than him.

Jon goes to rise up, but yet again he's forced down as Viserion blasts him with another wave of blue fire. It's only then he sees movement to his other side, a small figure darting around the rocks, so small and quick she's undetected by the dragon. Jon knows it's Arya and he rises up just as Viserion makes to turn, as if he's noticed her then, and he screams as the dragon turns back to him. "GOOOO!" This might be it, this moment very well could be his last. He's entrusting his duty to Arya, he knows that now. He only hopes she makes it in time.

And so he closes his eyes and thinks of her; of her sweet smelling red hair, so soft it slips between his fingers like silk. Of her lips, even softer still, and warm when he kisses them. Of her blue eyes, brighter than even the rarest of sapphires. He's only glad he told her the truth.

Viserion opens his mouth and Jon can feel the heat as the fire ball begins to circulate in his mouth. In one single moment, his life will be gone. But then... Cold. He can feel the cold wind blowing, he can hear what sounds like ice crumbling to the ground. And so he opens his eyes. Viserion has crumpled to the ground in thousands of pieces and all around them, the remaining white walkers and undead have done the same. He doesn't dare believe it. Not yet. Not yet.

But then he sees her, there in the distance, with her hands over her mouth, and he knows it's all over. Arya had made it, Arya had won. And though every inch of him ached, Jon moved through the rubble and towards the godswood, passing what was left of Theon's men and stumbling to stand before Bran.

She turns to him at the sound of his approaching footsteps; she was pale faced but unharmed. "Jon!" She cries, rushing forward, uncaring of all the eyes that were upon them. Jon felt her arms come around him, realizing only a moment later that her grip was all that kept him from falling to the ground. "You're alive," she whispers over and over again, her voice soft and warm against his ear as she held him close, tears pouring down her face. Jon looks out over her shoulder at all of the others that remained alive- Theon was not one of them and his heart aches for her loss of him. Arya stands just behind them- she's bruised and bloody, but she's alive. Bran too is unhurt and for that Jon is thankful.

[ x x x ]

When he wakes the next morning, he's surprised to find her asleep at the foot of his bed. Ghost sleeps curled around her feet, though the wolf raises his head at the sound of Jon waking. The movement of his legs must wake her for a moment later, she too is rising up, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she leans in closer to him. "You're awake." She says, relief flooding her eyes in the form of tear as she reaches for his hands; even they were bruised and scraped. He feels her thumb gently rub across his knuckles, her touch so soft he couldn't even be certain she'd done it at all. "I'm so glad."

Jon stares at her for a long moment, as if he dares not believe she is there and so is he, that they are safe inside a room in what remained of Winterfell. "I thought of you," he says without thinking, without hesitation. For some reason, he needs her to know. "When I thought Visieron would burn me alive... I thought of you." She blinks at him, drawing back ever so slightly in her surprise. But then her face softens, her eyes spilling over as she leans over him and buries her face into his thighs beneath the furs. Jon strokes her long red hair, thankful he's been given the chance for another moment such as this. "But why..." He asks, his question drawing her back up. "Why didn't you go to the crypts? You could have been killed out there!"

For a moment, she doesn't know what to say to him. She doesn't want to worry him more than necessary. She's alive, after all. She stares back at him for what felt like an eternity before she looks down at her lap, hands twisting together as she fights to find the right words. "I did... At first. But... Tyrion." She finally speaks softly, looking back at up him then. "He said he had once read that the Night King increased his army by animating the corpses upon the battlefield. He said it might prove the same for the crypts." Jon's heart has begun to pound. "They almost all died," she whispers, shaking her head as the terrible images run through her mind once more. "All but Gilly and Tyrion and me and a few others." She remembers the sounds of flesh tearing from bone. She remembers the screams of the living as they were torn to pieces by the undead. She remembers how it felt to plunge a dagger into Rickon's dead flesh, watching her little brother die once more before her very eyes.

It takes Jon only a moment to realize the severity of her words. He thinks of her then, pale and frightened in the crypts, surrounded by the undead with no one to protect her. He thinks of her fighting back with the dagger Arya had given her that night, no knowledge in her about how to wield it. And more than anything... He thinks of their family, rising back up from their graves to cause her harm. "Sansa, I'm sorry," he whispers, cold dread rushing through him as he reaches for her hands, though he suddenly feels as if he has no right at all. But she places one hand over his, giving it a squeeze as she raises her gaze to meet his. "I never thought... I thought you would have been safe there... Instead, you could have died." He can't begin to grasp what he's done, what his decision has caused. All of those women and children, innocent lives taken because of his own stupid decision.

"We all did," she murmurs softly, shaking her head. "We all thought it to be safe down there. You needn't blame yourself." Her sapphire gaze burns deep into his soul, the intensity of it sending chills down his spine; those were eyes that had seen far too much. "When we came back up, I knew where I had to go. I snuck around the back until I reached the godswood." She offers a somewhat apologetic smile. "I know it was stupid to go there, but I figured if I was going to die, I wanted to be with my family."

Jon squeezes her hand again, sitting up straighter in his bed so he could lean in close to her. "You're the bravest woman I know," he whispers as he tips his forehead down to meet hers, raising his hands up so they could slide into place on either side of her face. "And I love you for it," he continues, capturing her mouth with his before she can respond. The kiss is sweet and long, a kiss he hopes says everything that his words cannot. When he draws back, she's smiling. "Help me dress, won't you? I want to see the damage," Sansa nods and rises from her chair, moving about the room to grab him clean clothes.

When he's dressed, he leans on her arm and together they walk out into the cold morning air, where they might begin to talk of rebuilding the home that was theirs.


	22. Chapter 22 - You Dont Have to Stay

Her touch is soft and warm. Jon looks up into her sapphire eyes, desperate to feel anything but the fear trapped inside of his heart. The gaze that peers back at him is warm and comforting, unlike anything else in this world ever could be. They are hours from what could very well be the end of their lives, the end of everything they've ever known and ever loved. Death was at their doorstep and Jon knew in a few short hours, he would be upon the battlefield, fighting a war he hopes he can win.

Jon leans in closer to her, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead. "You don't have to stay," he says softly, his gaze never wavering from hers. She had come to his rooms a little while before, despite the late hour, joining him for what could be their last mug of wine and ale. Their last chance to see one another before the Night King and his army of the undead arrived at their door. Her black armor dress had been discarded for a softer gray one, her long red hair unbound from its usual braids, and he longed to run his hands through its length. In truth, there was nothing more he wanted than for her to stay with him.

"I want to," she whispers, leaning in so she could close the final gap between them, her mouth finding his a moment later. He yields to her kiss without hesitation, his hands rising up so one could slide into her soft red hair, the other cupping her cheek into his palm. Her kiss was fiery, unlike any of the previous ones they'd shared, a kiss that told him what she wanted him to do. And so he broke the kiss only so he could slip his arms beneath her, hefting her up into his arms as he rose to his feet. This might be their final night together, their one chance to do what they both had always wanted to do. For one night, they could do what they wished without fear or hesitation.

And so Jon carries her to his bed, gently depositing her atop the furs, before climbing in over her. He's kissing her again and his hands are roaming her body as her own slide into his wild curls. They undress each other, slowly, and Jon can't help himself from kissing every scar he stumbles across, knowing each one held a story that caused her pain and suffering. He palms her soft skin, kneading it gently, every touch spreading wildfire through her icy veins. And when he's inside of her, he leans over her to kiss away her tears, knowing she cries for what could be, for what they might never have.

Later, when she sleeps curled up in the crook of his arm, Jon closes his eyes against his own tears, knowing there was a chance he might never have this moment again. He only wishes they had given into their feelings months before, back then when they'd had a little more time. In truth, if this would be his last night alive, Jon was glad to have spent it with her. He would carry this night with him out onto the battlefield, out to what could be his death. If nothing else, he was happy to have just one moment more with her. And so he presses a soft kiss to her temple and pulls her closer. Then he closes his eyes and wills himself to sleep. To sleep and to dream of a future that he would give anything to see.


	23. Chapter 23 - I'm Right Here

Ghost's whining is what wakes him from his slumber.

The wolf is at his bedside, whining and nudging his arm, as if he means to tell him something. "What is it boy?" Jon asks as he rises up from the furs, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Ghost is looking at him with those red eyes and for some reason, without warning, without explanation, Jon thinks of her. "Sansa?" Worry rushes through him and at once he's out of the bed, pulling on his rumpled shirt and heading out the door. Ghost barrels past him and sure enough he rushes down the hall towards the rooms Sansa occupies.

When she wakes from the dream, it's to throw up in the wash basin beside her bed.

Panting, she wipes tears from her face, she can barely catch her breath. Her heart hammers wildly in her chest and even several deep breaths cannot calm it. Sansa presses her face into her palms, shoulders curving in as she fights to retain control of herself, as she fights away the images of her nightmare. Another night haunted by the memory of Ramsay Bolton, though she'd been away from his clutches for weeks now. Even now she could feel the sting of his blows, could feel every terrible thing he had ever done to her. She had thought, no she had hoped, that her pain would begin to lessen... That soon she would sleep soundly at night, but she was beginning to fear she'd never sleep well again the rest of her life.

Heaving a sigh, she feeds kindling into the dying embers of her fire, sparking it back to life before she takes to the chair settled before the hearth. It's only then that she hears the sound of footsteps outside her door and the unmistakable sound of Ghost whining. She rises up from the chair, it's not the first time Ghost has come to her rooms in the middle of the night when she needed him most. Though he was not her wolf, it was as if he understood her in a way no human ever could. In truth, most nights now he slept at her side, though this night he had been out hunting somewhere when she'd finally gone off to bed. Opening her door, she's surprised to find not just Ghost in her doorway, but Jon looking both extremely worried and uncertain about knocking upon her door in the middle of the night. "Sansa!" He says when he sees her, his brown eyes widening, his mouth soft as he peers at her in the darkness. "Ghost... Ghost was worried." He says as if this explains it all. Sansa can't stop the smile that twitches on her lips before she nods, stepping aside to allow him to come into her room.

Now that they stood in the firelight, Jon drank in the sight of her; pale, shaking, afraid. His heart sank though anger surged through him. His only wish was to make her feel safe again, to make her feel well again. In her few weeks with him, she'd yet to gain much weight back, though her smile seemed to flash more often now than it did that first week. She takes to the chair she'd once been occupying and at once, Ghost settles at her feet, her hand straying to the top of his large white head. Jon pulls up another chair beside hers, though he turns himself to face her as silence falls around them. "I'm worried about you, too," he finally says, speaking the truth that weighed upon him all these days. At once she looks away, idly plucking at a stray thread in her nightgown. "Sansa," he says, his tone a bit sharper, enough that she flinches, and at once he feels contrite. So he reaches out a hand, gently laying it over hers, his skin warm against hers. "Sansa..." Softer still, his tone encouraging her to finally look up at him.

When she does, her eyes are full of tears threatening to spill over. Her mouth wobbles and Jon feels his heart breaking inside of his chest. "I'm so scared," is all she can say before the dam breaks and she begins to cry, curling back into herself as she loses all control over her raging emotions. What she said was true, she was scared of everything now; she was scared to sleep, scared to dream. She was scared to live, she was scared to die. Nothing made sense anymore, nothing felt right. Nothing but him, nothing but Jon.

Jon allows her a moment or two of crying before he reaches for her, drawing her into his arms without a word. "It's okay," he murmurs softly, his voice ghosting against her skin as she buries her face into the crook of his shoulder. _**"I'm right here... I'm not going anywhere." **_He whispers as he strokes her long red hair, hoping it offers her even an ounce of comfort. In a moment such as this, there's not much he can say or do besides let her cry and let her figure herself out. She's raw, she's sharp edges, and she needs the comfort of someone who loves her. And that was him. Jon knows he's all she's got left and she's all he's got, too. He would give anything up, even his own life, if it meant she was safe and she was happy again.

It's a short while later when she's finally pulling free from his grasp, sniffling and wiping at her cheeks, her eyes swollen and red as they peer across at him. "I'm sorry," she says immediately, shaking her head as Ghost rubs his own against her legs. "I didn't mean to lose it on you like that." At once, Jon is the one shaking his head, reaching out his hand to tenderly stroke her cheek, erasing the last few remnants of tears from her skin.

"Don't be," he says softly as he means to pull his hand back, though hers slips over it, keeping it there against her cheek. "When I told you I'd protect you, I meant it. Not just from people who mean to harm you... But from bad dreams and bad thoughts and everything between." She lets out a soft breath and then her lips curve with the smallest of smiles, giving him a single nod. "You should try and sleep," he says then, rising up and pulling her up with him. She nods again, allowing him to walk her back towards her bed, Ghost trotting along behind them. The moment she's beneath the furs, Ghost leaps up onto her bed, curling up at the foot of it. "Sleep well," he whispers before he leans over and presses a kiss to the top of her head. And then he slips from the room, leaving her with Ghost, hoping she could finally get even a few hours of well deserved sleep.


	24. Chapter 24 - Injured by Wights

The knock on her door comes just moments after she's arrived within her rooms, having spent the better part of the last several hours stitching wounds and sponging foreheads. "Come in," she calls as she strips from her cloak, draping it over the back of the chair that sits before the fire. She knows it's Jon before she turns around to face him, though when she does it's with a small smile. "I thought you were sent to your room to rest," she admonishes, though in truth she's glad to see him there. It meant he was well enough to be up on his feet again.

"They said you were injured," he says bluntly, crossing the room to stand before her, noting the paleness of her features and the tired look in her eyes. Her gown is ruined, he also sees, covered in blood and god knows what else, though she seems not to mind. Her eyes widen at his words and she bites her lower lip, as if she's torn between telling him the truth or just keeping her mouth shut entirely. "Sansa!" He bursts out, reaching for her arm so he might pull her close, but instead she gasps without warning, wrenching her arm from his grip. And that's when he realizes it's true, she's been injured.

"It's nothing serious," she says at once, though Jon seems to have lost his ability to hear her. He takes her by the hand and gently pushes her sleeve up, revealing a bloody bandage that could use changing. Badly. Jon looks from her injured arm to her face, back to the injury and then back to her face. "It's just a flesh wound," she insists, trying to draw her arm from his grasp, but he can't let her go. Not yet. He's understanding just what she's done on this night; her own injury had been hastily wrapped up and a sleeve pulled over it- out of sight, out of mind. And then she'd thrown herself entirely into caring for the wounded soldiers. Stitching wounds and cleaning burns, those things, those people, all came before her own pain, her own injury.

"It needs tending to," he says, ignoring her protests as he draws her over to the nearest chair, her sewing basket settled atop the table it sits beside. He rummages inside and pulls out a few scraps of linen before he sets to work unwrapping her injured arm. The moment he sees it, Jon knows it's a sword wound- she was right, it wasn't deep, but it could become infected just the same as a deep one. Glancing across the room, he spots her wash basin, and he brings it over to the table and dunks one scrap into the water. "This might sting," he apologizes before he begins to gently dab at the wound, her every flinch like a knife in his gut. "How did it happen?" He asks, though part of him doesn't even want to know. He's afraid he's caused this by sending her to the crypts, not knowing the Night King would raise the dead from their very graves, not just the battlefield.

"A wight," she says softly, watching his hands as he begins to tenderly wrap her injured arm in a fresh piece of linen. "It had a little girl, I couldn't just..." She sighs, shaking her head as she tries to push the images from her mind. The scene in the crypts below had been like something from a true nightmare and she only wished to forget them if she could. If. "I just couldn't sit back and do nothing." She finally finishes, turning her blue eyes back onto his face.

Jon looks back to her, his hand gently pressed against her newly bandaged arm, knowing without a doubt he loved her. He had tried to deny it all he wanted, but not any longer. Listening to her tell him she'd fought back against the wights despite having no ability to hold a sword or even use a dagger, all to save a child who's name she probably didn't even know. It spoke volumes of who she was. And that was only one of the reasons Jon knew he loved her. There were hundreds of reasons he could think of, in truth, and suddenly he wanted her to know all of them. On this night when they both had survived, against all of the odds, it was like a sign from the gods that he needed to finally tell her the truth of how he felt. After all this time, after all the months of pining and longing... Even if she spat in his face, even if she pushed him away, he only wanted her to know. "Sansa... I..." She's smiling then, a sweet smile that brightens her eyes, a smile like he's not seen in many years. It was as if she could read his mind, as if she already knew what he was going to say. Her smile was as if she were saying _go on already, say it. _And so he does. "I love you."


	25. Chapter 25 - Jon Kills Dany Rewrite 2

When Jon came to her rooms, he knew something was amiss.

He could feel it in his bones, a cold sense of dread that left him feeling sick. It was as if he already knew that within Daenerys' rooms, a choice had already been made that would change everything. Raising his hand, he knocks twice, and waits silently until he hears the footsteps on the other side of the door. It's Missandei that opens it for him, giving a respectful but solemn nod before she steps aside, allowing him entrance to the queen's rooms.

She stands before the table at the center of the room, a great map of Westeros spread across it. Daenerys looks grim, her violet eyes a shade darker when they fall upon him. Tyrion stands to her other side and the look upon his face is unreadable- but the one within his eyes is chilling. "You sent for me, your grace," Jon speaks with a voice that does not betray his inner turmoil. His heart hammers, his stomach sinking as the dragon queen gestures for him to approach her. Grey Worm eyes him coldly from behind Daenerys, his hand ever present upon the hilt of his sword.

"Yes, Jon... We must speak." Daenerys says as she sweeps around the table to stand before him. "It's about your sister," she says, hands clasped before her, her dragon ring glinting in the firelight. She calls Sansa his sister, reminding him that Daenerys has told no one the truth of his birth, not even these people she called her must trusted council. Her _friends_. "It would seem that despite the friendship I have offered to her and the North, she still defies me." Jon feels his heart skip a beat, his breath catching in his throat. _No, no, no,_ he thinks, though his face remains passive. "Letters have been discovered, letters she intended to send to my enemies." Daenerys' nostrils flare, a telltale sign of the anger rushing through her. "Letters that name you the true heir to the Iron Throne, letters asking to support the North in an effort to overthrow my reign before it has even begun." Jon doesn't ask how such letters have been found; queen or not, she had no right searching Winterfell's own Lady's personal letters as they were being sent out.

"Sansa wouldn't," Jon begins, hoping he sounds shocked, truthfully he is, though his worry quite outweighs the shock. "Your grace, she is upset, please let me speak to her... Let me-"

"No!" Daenerys snaps, interrupting him before he can finish his plea. "You know the penalty for treason, Jon." Her violet eyes narrow as they fall upon him, as if she is threatening him to disagree, as if she dares him to defend Sansa from the crimes she's committed. "Not only has she been disrespectful to me, her queen, she has forged a lie that you are Targaryen born and thus the true heir. She means to take from me what is mine and give it to you. Your sister is a traitor and must be punished." Jon cannot breathe. But he knows if he tries to fight the decision, he will be overruled and burned too. If he is dead, then he cannot stop what is to come. "Do you understand what that means?"

And so he hangs his head and hopes he looks like a dejected older brother. He hopes he looks shamed, knowing his sister was a traitor to the one true queen. "Aye, your grace, I do." He says softly, keeping his gaze upon the ground until he hears Daenerys' soft footsteps as she approaches him. When he looks up, she's staring at him, no trace of sympathy on her features. Not even for him, the man she supposedly loves, can she feel pity for when she intends on murdering his own family member.

"At dawn then. You may say your goodbyes, if you wish." Daernerys turns away from him then, dismissing him with a single wave of her hand. She trusts him, he realizes, not to betray her to Sansa. To not try and smuggle her away from Winterfell in the dead of night. She still yet believes in what was between them, whatever it was she thought it to be. And that... That will be what saves Sansa's life.

[ x x x ]

When he returns to her rooms that night, he's certain no one has seen him. This time when he knocks, she opens it a moment later, a smile blooming at the sight of him in her doorway. "Jon," she breathes, allowing him to come in, shutting the door behind her. "I thought you would be angry with me... For what I must do." She shifts from one foot to the other, looking uncomfortable for the first time, her violet eyes flickering in the light from the fire behind her. "You do understand, don't you? I do not want to execute her, Jon, but she has given me no choice. I am her queen."

Jon steps closer to her, reaching out a hand to tenderly stroke her cheek. "You are my queen," he says softly, his words bringing another smile to her face. She leans in to his touch, her own hand sliding into place over his. "I love Sansa as any brother would, but you are my queen and it's you I've devoted my life to." The words feel empty on his tongue, but they do the trick for her smile is radiant as she falls into his embrace.

"We will make this world a better place, you and I," she says softly, her voice muffled from where her face is buried into his chest. He raises a hand to touch her silvery hair and it forces her to tilt her head back to look up at him, violet eyes shimmering with happy tears. "I knew I could always trust you." She says softly, before she rises up to her tiptoes, pressing her lips against his without another word.

Jon kisses her back, one arm snaking around to press against the small of her back. The other moves quickly to his waist, to where he's secured a dagger. It's over so quickly, Daenerys has no time to react aside from a quiet cry that leaves her once smiling lips. She looks down at the blade plunged into her chest and then back up at Jon, shock replacing the happiness as she sags towards the ground. Jon doesn't move as she falls, but rather stands over her, unaware of the breath he's holding until he lets it go when her chest goes still.

A moment later, he cleans his blade and puts it back at his hip, tossing the bloodied linen into the dying embers of the fire. And then he steps around Daenerys' now lifeless body, heads out into the hall, and back to his rooms. Never seen, never heard, no one will ever know who claimed the dragon's queen life.

[ x x x ]

The next morning, all of Winterfell is woken by Missandei's screams and Grey Worm's shouts. It is Missandei that discovers her queen's body that morning when she goes to help her dress and braid her hair as she did every morning, albeit earlier than usual to prepare for what was supposed to occur that day. Her cries alert Grey Worm who was coming down the hall and the soldier rushes from the room, shouting for Jon Snow and the Lady of Winterfell.

Both are lodged in Sansa's rooms, Jon having gone to her room as he often did in the morning, nothing out of his ordinary routine. Sansa is sliding the last pin into her hair when the door flies open, nearly off its hinges, and Grey Worm storms in. "Murderer!" He screams as his eyes fall upon Jon, unsheathing his sword and pointing it at his chest. "Murderer!" His bellows can be heard throughout the castle and already, Brienne is rushing through the room, placing herself between Sansa who now stands and Grey Worm who's frenzied stare swivels from one face to the other.

"What is the meaning of this?" Sansa demands, fear paling her face, though her blue eyes narrow as she stares Grey Worm down.

"Jon Snow has murdered my queen!" Grey Worm shouts, near hysterics now, his sword still yet aimed for Jon. "Your treachery against the queen was discovered and just last night, she sentenced you to die! Now we wake to find her slain in her own room?" Grey Worm is beside himself, his sword shaking in his hand. Sansa blinks, swallowing down whatever retort she had prepared. "This very morning we were to come for you but now she is dead? Jon Snow, you will pay! And so will you!" Grey Worm surges forward, but Jon parries the attack the moment he's unsheathed Longclaw and Sansa cries for them to cease sword play, though Brienne forces her back from the scuffle. "I will avenge my queen!" Grey Worm screams as his blade connects with Jon's yet again, sparks flying.

It takes but several more swings for Jon to knock the blade from the now weeping man's hands and it's then that Northern soldiers have descended upon the room. "Take him in chains!" Sansa cries as she comes around Brienne's protective form. "Brienne, go to the queen's rooms." Though she looks somewhat reluctant to leave her side, Brienne nods and exits the room, following after the soldiers that drag Grey Worm between them. "Secure Winterfell," she commands of the other soldiers, all of whom nod, sprinting from the room to do as she bid.

The moment they have all gone, Sansa drops into the chair she'd once discarded, her heartbeat wild within her chest. Jon at once turns to her, Longclaw back at his side where it belonged. "What is happening?" She asks, turning her blue eyes upon him, the breath leaving her shaking as badly as her hands in her lap. "Is what he said true?"

Jon regards her for a long moment before he comes closer, dropping down to the floor beside her chair. Without a word, he reaches for her hands, squeezing them gently. She's staring at him but her expression tells him everything that her words don't. It's as if she understands him completely. "I told you I'd always protect you," he says finally, releasing a shaky breath of his own. Her lips twitch with a smile but she thinks better on it and she merely nods, giving his hands a squeeze back. His vow held true, no matter who he had to protect her from. Queens, kings, monsters, or men... He would protect her from them all for as long as he lived.


	26. Chapter 26 - Visible Pregnancy

"How do I look?"

Sansa turns to face Brienne who stands at the center of her room, her sworn soldier peers down at her as if she'd like to be anywhere else. "You look... Beautiful, my lady." Brienne replies and Sansa's face immediately tells her that's not the answer she wanted to hear. The young woman heaves a sigh and sinks down into the chair she had once occupied, content on never again showing her face within Winterfell.

"I cannot face him like this, Brienne." She says, torn between crying and laughing. For the first few weeks of Jon's departure, she had done nothing but anticipate him returning. But now... Now all she could do was wish he was returning alone. It would not be easy to explain to this new ally of theirs why the Lady of Winterfell was pregnant... With her own supposed bastard brother's child. It was true, none needed to know who the father was, certainly no one in the North did (save for Brienne and Bran, who knew everything now, even Arya had her suspicions). Upon learning she was pregnant, she had lamented to Bran over it, and it had been then that he'd told her the truth of Jon's birth. He was not her brother at all, but rather her cousin. It made certain things easier, she supposed, but not all things. Daenerys Targaryen could not know the truth of Jon's birth, that was for certain. It would not bode well for their new alliance. And as the Lady of Winterfell, she could not be down there when the Targaryen queen arrived, it simply wouldn't do.

"He will be happy, my lady," Brienne ventures to say, though her words earn a laugh from her lady's lips.

"Shocked, more like it," Sansa mutters, drumming her fingertips across the swollen hump that had become her stomach these last few weeks. "I should have just written him," she had toyed with the idea for weeks, so at least he would not be shocked when he saw her for the first time. But so fearful was she of the letter being intercepted, she had thought better of it. That and she had not anticipated him being gone so long, she thought he would return well before she began to show physical signs of the pregnancy. "He will die in the courtyard of shock before Daenerys Targaryen and our cause will be lost." She heaves another sigh, shaking her fiery red head. And for all she knew, Jon had forgotten her in his time away from Winterfell. It was rumored the dragon queen was beautiful and charming, a creature no man could ever resist.

Brienne opens her mouth to reply, but she is silenced by a knock on the door. "My lady... They've arrived." Lord Royce says when he's standing before her, bowing low to the lady he's grown to love and respect.

Sansa nods and rises up to her feet, turning to Brienne when she's dismissed the man. "It's time," she says softly, to which Brienne nods, offering her lady her warm, fur cloak. It at least concealed the bump of her belly, she supposed, though Jon would know the moment they embraced. She took a deep breath and made her way out the door and into the hall, there was no time left for worrying. They were here.

[ x x x ]

Jon can think of no one but Sansa. He comes towards where she stands with Bran, though first he embraces the brother he's not seen in many years. They share several tender moments before Jon can take it no longer and he rises up to reach for her. The moment she's in his arms, he freezes- he can feel the swell of her body against his, a thing he had not felt the last time he'd held her so. As he pulls back, she's blinking back tears, nodding slightly as if to confirm for him the question his eyes must have asked. There is no time at all for them to speak, for behind him he can hear approaching footsteps and knows Daenerys is just behind them. "Your grace... My sister, the Lady of Winterfell," he introduces in what he hopes is a strong, confident voice. His mind is racing, his heart is thumping.

"Lady Sansa... Your brother has told me a lot about you." Daenerys speaks as she steps closer, all charm and smiles as she gazes upon her. She must befriend this girl, or so Tyrion says. "The North is as beautiful as he claimed, as are you." She compliments with a dazzling smile, her violet eyes bright in the winter sun. "You glow like the moon, in truth." The dragon queen is somewhat shocked by the young woman's radiant beauty, far greater than what she had anticipated.

Sansa smiles but she can see right through the queen's pretty words and quick smiles. "Winterfell is yours, your grace," she says with a small tilt of her head, her smile half-hearted, her sapphire eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Daenerys draws back ever so slightly, her nostril flaring, telling Sansa her words have upset her. "I trust your journey has been well, please allow me to have you escorted to your rooms to rest and warm up." She raises a hand and Lord Royce is there beside her. "Anything you need, please don't hesitate to ask." Her tone is dismissive, as if she were the queen and not the lady. Daenerys says nothing more but follows after Lord Royce, her small group following close behind.

The moment they've gone, those gathered within the courtyard begin to dismiss- all save for Jon, Sansa, and Bran. "It seems you two must talk," Bran says, breaking the silence that had descended. Sansa nods, looking up from her brother to the man she now called the father of her child, the man she loved with all of her heart. Jon gave a single nod as well, offering her his arm.

Together they made their way up into the corridors of Winterfell, silent and steady in their walk as they approached her rooms. Once inside, Sansa shut the door behind them and when she turns around to face him, Jon is already rushing for her. He takes her into his embrace, kissing her as he had done the night before he'd left for Dragonstone so many months ago. "I've missed you so," he whispers against her hair, holding her as tightly as he dares, breathing in her still familiar scent of rose water. He steps back then, holding her at arm's length for a long moment. "Is it true, then?" He asks, lifting a hand to gesture down towards her body, still yet concealed by her long cloak.

Sansa doesn't speak, but rather she pulls free from his touch so she can slip the cloak from her shoulders, tossing it aside; in just her black gown, her pregnancy is quite apparent. Jon's mouth quivers as he sinks down, hands coming to touch the bump of her belly, as if in awe of it. "I cannot believe it," he whispers as he leans in, pressing his forehead against her, drawing back with a surprised laugh when he feels the child press back. "He moves!" He says, his excitement apparent, and Sansa could cry from joy.

"You are happy?" She asks and at once, Jon is on his feet again, palms cupping her cheeks as he brings her in close to kiss.

"How can I not be?" He asks, tears stinging his eyes. It is true, he's got twice as much to worry about, but in the end it would all be worth it. He knows others won't understand, what with their sibling bond, but Jon doesn't care who understands them. He loves her and that's all he cares about. "I love you, Sansa, I love both of you." Jon presses his hand against the swell of her belly yet again, smiling when he feels hers fall into place over his.

"There's something else I must tell you," she thinks back to what Bran had told her the night he'd told her the truth of Jon's birth. _You must be the one to tell him the truth. _And so she opens her mouth and begins to speak- she tells him everything that Bran had told her, she tells him everything he needs to know.

[ x x x ]

That night when she crawls into her bed, Jon is already there.

"I have dreamed of this," he whispers as he draws her into his arms, their hands tangled together over her belly. "It's all I've ever wanted," he admits, nuzzling against her, the feel of her warm body pressed against his all he'd longed for in his time away. "You're all I've ever wanted." He clarifies and Sansa smiles in the dark. In the morning, they would have to talk about what they would do from there on. But for now, they only had to think of spending the night in one another's arms. For now, all they had to worry about was if the other was warm enough, if the other was comfortable enough. For now, they only had to think about each other and the little life they had created.

For now, it was only them.


	27. Chapter 27 - Dany Realizes Pregnancy

When the knock sounds on her solar door, Sansa is unprepared.

"Come in," she calls, thinking it to be Lord Royce returning, so she doesn't look up when the door opens. "Were you able to look into-" she stops dead when she looks up and sees who stands in her doorway. It is not Lord Royce at all, nor anyone at all she wishes to see.

"It's customary for a lord or lady to rise when their queen enters the room," Daenerys says with a strained smile when she realizes the young woman had no intention of rising without prompting. Sansa feels her heart skip a beat but she knew she could not avoid this moment any longer. And so she rises to her feet, exposing to the dragon queen what she had come to her room to see. "Ah, so it is true then," Daenerys goes on, violet eyes flicking the Lady of Winterfell up and down, taking in the sight of her newly grown belly. "I suppose you are not the first woman to birth a bastard." She had heard the rumors of what this girl suffered, both at the hands of the Lannister's and the Bolton's here in her own home. Daenerys supposed of all women, she deserved to find some form of pleasure in sex, whether it be with a man she was married to or not. She approaches the desk then, gesturing for Sansa to take a seat as she herself sits in one of the chairs that sits opposite her.

"The child isn't a bastard," the words are out of her mouth so fast she can't stop them. Daenerys' eyes widen and Sansa sits forward, shuffling a few papers together atop her desk. "I only mean the child will have the Stark name, regardless of my lack of marriage to their father." This much was true- with the few exceptions, her title was greater than most, and so her child would retain her own name. Besides... Jon had just as much Stark blood as he did Targaryen. Their child would be a Stark, always. She tries to hide her smile, wondering what look the dragon queen would wear when she someday learned the truth of the child's father.

Daenerys smiles that same strained sort of smile as she leans in, violet eyes meeting Sansa's blue. "Lady Stark, I would like to be friends. I'm afraid that you and I are at odds... And I can't imagine why." Sansa blinks and leans back in her chair, hands folding over the swell of her stomach. "I have come North to fight your brother's war, putting my own battle for the throne on hold. We are as much allies as Jon and I are."

"Jon's war?" Sansa asks, careful to keep her tone easy going; she recalls the tones she once used against Joffrey and knows what she learned back then in King's Landing is going to be put to use now as well. "If you are the rightful queen of this land, then surely it is not Jon's war, but your own." She watches as Daenerys' face changes, her violet eyes darkening with the rise of her temper. "As queen, is it not your duty to protect the realm from those who would cause us harm?" She smiles sweetly, head tilted ever so slightly. "You come to us from a foreign land, with a foreign army and dragons that threaten to starve us all... And you ask us to bow and to call you your grace yet you say you've come to fight our war, as if you are doing us a favor. Let me give you some advice, your grace, if you wish to be respected as queen, perhaps you should earn it."

The dragon queen opens her mouth to speak but there comes a knock on the door, silencing her before she can speak. "Your grace, Sansa," Jon greets, stepping into the room as he looks from one woman to the other. The tension in the room is palpable. Jon's eyes focus on Sansa for only a moment before he turns to face Daenerys. "It seems that supper is ready, but we are waiting for our queen," crowned or not, it was custom to wait to eat until the visiting royal or highest ranking person was in the room.

Daenerys rises from where she sits, turning her back to Sansa so she can cross the room to join Jon where he stands. "I need only a moment alone with my sister," Jon adds, noticing the dark glance Daenerys throws Sansa before she nods and passes him by, letting the door fall closed behind her with a bang. "You two are becoming fast friends it seems," Jon says as Sansa too rises from her chair, coming around the desk to stand before him. "What did you say to her?" He eyes her skeptically when she offers him an innocent sort of smile, as if to say she'd done nothing wrong.

"I only told her the truth," Sansa began, but cut herself off with a gasp. Concern took root on Jon's features, but she only smiles as she reaches for his hand, placing it against the side of her belly. "Can you feel?" She asks with excitement, to which Jon nods, his face full of wonder as he sinks down further, pressing his cheek against the spot where the baby was moving.

"Strong," he murmurs as he rises back up, though his hand remains in place against her belly, content on feeling every flutter of movement against his palm.

"They know you already," she says with a smile, sliding her hand into place over his. They had not had many moments alone since his return home, but already it seems their child knows its father. "She seems more upset at you not escorting her to dinner than over what I said to her," she goes on, returning to their earlier conversation as she loops her arm through his. Anyone who didn't know them would think them a newly married couple, happily expecting their first child. "She calls herself queen but in the same breath calls the war against the Night King Jon's war, as if it would not be her problem if she sat upon the throne."

Jon chuckles, shaking his head as he turns them out into the main corridor. Sansa was the only person he knew who dared speak up against this dragon queen, most were too frightened of her dragons to cross her. "Tell me that is not what you said to her."

The look she shoots him is anything but an innocent one. "That's not what I said to her." She parrots back and Jon rolls his eyes, but gives her arm an affectionate squeeze. "Besides, someone must. Her dragons will starve us all before the Night King comes and she cares not." Had their conversation lasted even a moment longer, she'd have told Daenerys such a thing.

"Just promise me you won't say anything more... You don't know her like I do. She won't like your disrespect. She's executed men for less." Jon says softly, turning his head to look at her. She blinks those sapphire colored eyes, mouth turning with a frown, but she finally nods. A wave of relief washes through him and as they approach the great hall, she wiggles from his grasp, perhaps knowing it would only anger Daenerys more to see her upon his arm. Instead she goes into the hall first, slipping by the queen at the head of the table without more than a glance. Jon sets himself between them and those within the room return to their plates, only distracted by the entrance of their Lady and one time king.

She will do as Jon says, she supposes, she will try to curb her tongue when it comes to the dragon queen. She will try to play nicely with her, though she would rather cross the icy cold river once again than exchange fake pleasantries with the woman. But... It was not just her own well being she had to worry about now. As if the child within her knew she was thinking of them, they moved, a small fist or foot making a connection that made her jump. That was who she had to play nice for- not for herself, not for anyone but the baby growing strong within her. And so she sighs deeply before leaning over Jon, offering the dragon queen what she hopes in an apologetic sort of smile. "Jon tells me you are an accomplished rider, your grace. I should like to hear to hear of your time riding in your khalasar." Her comment does the trick and Daenerys' face softens, violet eyes gleaming in the torchlight.

_You can do this_, she tells herself, _you can do this_. And so she will, she will make friends with this queen, if only to protect the future of her child.


	28. Chapter 28 - Ramsay's Child

A/N: potentially triggering content in this chapter. You've been warned.

The morning after Ramsay dies, she wakes up ill.

She blames it on what she's done, on how she's bloodied her hands; evil, vile man as he was, she's never killed before. It changes you, even if she doesn't want to admit it. But then it's a second morning, a third. A fourth. Her heart sinks each and every morning she wakes to vomit, knowing deep down what this means for her. The very thing Ramsay used to beat her for lacking has now come true... She's pregnant.

Somehow, she's hidden it from Brienne, who comes to her rooms every morning as usual. By the time her sworn sword arrives, she's cleaned herself and though her stomach is a sea of waves, she breaks her fast with the bit of bread and cheese Brienne brings her, willing her body to keep it in. She goes on with her life as if all is the same- for the first two weeks, she cannot face it. She cannot deal with it. Out of sight, out of mind, she supposes, aside from the constant fatigue and illness, that is.

She cries every night, tossing and turning with the options running through her mind. On one end, she can't imagine continuing with the pregnancy. Having Ramsay's baby felt like a knife in her heart, a fresh wave of the trauma she was so desperately trying to leave behind. How cruel could fate be, to force this upon her when she had only just escaped from her tormenter? And yet... On the other end... It was not the child's fault who it's father was. It was not the child who had hurt her. The child was innocent of any wrong doing. And truthfully, she knew she was far too along for any potion to work. As much as she did not want this, as much as she wanted to fight and scream against this, she could not... No matter how painful the road to come would be, she would have to face it.

It's well into the first few weeks of her knowing about the pregnancy when there comes a knock on her door. For the last two weeks, Brienne had begun to question her- she had noticed her lady's new habits and had inquired about her lack of bleeding that month and the one before. Brienne didn't know she'd not bled for the month before that, either, though Sansa had contributed it to the tortue from Ramsay she had suffered in those final days. She knows she's nearly four months along now, soon she will begin to show, soon there will be no hiding it from anyone.

"Come in," she calls, looking up when the door opens, surprised to see Jon there in her doorway. "Jon," she greets with a smile, a rush of pleasure rushing through her. He was the only light in her dark world these days, the only thing that could take her mind away from the trouble brewing within her own body. He looks uncomfortable, she notices, as if there is something on his mind that he doesn't know how to bring up. "What's wrong?" She asks, thankful to think of something that doesn't involve her own life and mind for even just a moment.

Jon sighs but he comes across the room to sit before her, noting the pallor of her cheeks, the dullness in her blue eyes. He lays awake most nights worrying about her- since Ramsay's death, she seemed to have retreated into herself, quite how she had been when she first came to him from Winterfell. She looks as if she's not slept in weeks and Brienne confided in him her own worries for the young woman. "I'm worried about you, Sansa," he finally speaks, the honest truth falling from his lips far easier than he'd anticipated. Her eyes widen slightly and she draws back, the grip on her sewing tightening.

"There's no reason to worry about me," she says through gritted teeth, shaking her head, forcing a smile. "I'm fine, truly." Jon stares back at her, his dark eyes telling her everything his words had yet to say. He didn't believe her. She didn't believe her, either. "I... I..." She can't speak the words aloud. Not yet. If she says them out loud, then they must be true. If she says it, then what she told Ramsay about his house vanishing, about his name disappearing, would be lost. She would forever be known as the woman who gave birth to Ramsay Bolton's son, a monster of a man that had done no good in the world. Good or not, the child would always be looked down upon because of their father's name. "I can't... Please, don't make me say it." Tears are streaking her cheeks now and she's curling into herself.

His heart aches at the sight of the young woman before him; he can't even begin to imagine the pain, the suffering she must be feeling. He doesn't even know the truth of what's bothering her yet, though Brienne seemed to be confident in it, and he's got no words to use to make her feel better. How could he, if it were true? There was no making a thing such as this alright. "I will help you," he says finally, reaching for her, touching her hands that are tangled together in her lap, sewing long discarded. "Sansa, look at me." She raises her gaze to him, sapphire eyes swimming with tears, her lower lip wobbling as she fights to control her emotions. "Let me help you," he clarifies softly, tilting his head ever so slightly as he looks back at her.

She trusts him, she trusts him more than anyone she's ever trusted anyone in all of her life. Jon is the only man who's never hurt her, who's never broken his word to her. He will help her, he will protect her, he's said so himself. "I'm pregnant," she whispers brokenly, tears falling faster than she can wipe them away, her heartbeat steady within her chest. "I'm so scared," she continues softly, leaning in to Jon's touch when he reaches out to brush tears from her skin. "I can't do this alone."

Jon says nothing at first; he merely reaches for her, drawing her into a long embrace. And when he lets her go, its to brush hair from her teary face, it's to cup her cheek with his palm again, her skin soft against his. "You'll never do this alone, Sansa," he speaks seriously, forcing her to keep her gaze on his. "I will be there every step of the way." He nods when she blinks in her surprise. "If you wish to be rid of the child when it's born, I will help you find a family who will love them. If you wish to keep the child, I will help you raise them like my own." She's crying again, new tears that are unlike the ones of fear she'd been shedding only minutes ago. "I will love them Sansa and so will you, if it's what you choose." She nods then, relief flooding her features before she's in his arms again, yielding to the comfort his arms always brought her.

[ x x x ]

The morning the child is born, the sun is shining.

Sansa holds the infant, wrapped in a blanket, close to her chest; she doesn't feel as she thought she might- there is no disgust, there is no animoisity. In truth, she feels love. She knows it's because of Jon... Jon who spent the last few months touching her belly, speaking to her belly. It was Jon who turned her from the hate in her heart to love, it was Jon who reminded her of the beauty in life, even if she'd thought it to be gone.

"Sansa," Jon's voice is in the door way and she smiles when she turns to face him there.

"Come... Come hold him." Sansa encourages as Jon approaches her bedside. She holds out the bundled baby, chuckling softly as Jon puts out his hands, looking awkward and uncertain. He's not held a baby in many years, she remembers, knowing it must have been Bran or Rickon he held last.

"A boy..." Jon breathes as he takes the baby into the crook of his arm, shifting until he got him just right. "What will you call him?" He asks, pulling his gaze from the baby long enough to look down at Sansa's smile. "He is certainly a Stark." It was true, even Sansa knew that. With his shock of dark hair and oval features, he could pass more for Jon's son than probably her own.

"Jon." She laughs at his expressions change, but demures when she sees the tears brimming in his eyes. "I hope he lives up to his name," she adds, reaching up to touch the baby's soft, dark hair.

"He will," Jon says, as if he can already see the future for this child. It will be happy one, he will ensure it.


	29. Chapter 29 - Only Daughters

It's late into the evening and she cannot sleep.

She supposes the late stage of her pregnancy is to blame, but in truth its not her lack of comfort that keeps her awake. It's her racing mind. Beside her, Jon sleeps soundly, one arm flung over her as he always did and she sighs, feeling the familiar rush of happiness she still yet felt when watching him sleep. Nearly six years into their marriage and sometimes it still feels like day one. Sansa can't believe how incredibly lucky she is to have him.

Sighing, she slips free from his grasp and slides off the bed, stretching out her tired, aching body as she went. Touching a hand to her stiff belly, she smiles, knowing this little one was ready to make their entrance. And she was ready for them, that was certain. After four previous pregnancies, she knew her body well and knew that this baby was days, if not hours, from coming into the world. Aside from being more than over being heavy with child, Sansa longed to know the gender of this final baby. Or so she said it was to be their final one (she had said the same thing about Elaena the year before). As both a queen and a wife, she knew it to be her duty to give her husband and kingdom sons, and yet, all she had given Jon and the North were daughters. Beautiful daughters that she loved with all of her heart, beautiful daughters that would grow into fine young woman, and yet... She could not help but to feel she had let Jon down by not yet giving him a son.

"Sansa?"

She turns from where she stands at the window now, finding Jon awake in their bed. "Sweetheart, you should be resting," he says as he rises from the bed, coming across the room to gently grasp her by the arms. But as he looks into her eyes, he knows something is wrong. Something is bothering her. "What is it? Are you in pain? What's the matter?" Fear leaps into his throat, makes his heart skip a beat.

"What if it is a girl?"

Jon pulls back, surprised by her words. "If the babe is a girl?" He asks incredulously, unable to help himself from laughing when she nods. "Then we shall add a fifth girl to our lot, won't we?"

"But do you not want a boy?" She asks quietly, tears welling in her eyes as her hands cross over her belly.

"I don't want one more than the other," he said with a smile, reaching up to tenderly stroke her cheek. "You have given me four beautiful girls and if you give me another one, then you will have given me five." His thumb swipes at the tears gathering in her eyes and he pulls her as close as her great belly will allow, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I want nothing more than to have a happy, healthy babe. Is that not all that you want?" She nods, a smile twitching on her lips as he pulls back from her. "Come to bed, sweetheart." He takes her by the hand and draws her back towards their bed, ensuring she was comfortable enough before he lay down at her side. He slips his arms around her and draws her in close, sliding his hand over hers that rest against the curve of her belly, their child moving beneath their palms. "I love you," he murmurs, his voice warm against her neck.

And as she slips back into sleep, she realizes more than ever just how lucky she was to have him.

[ x x x ]

Two days later, in the middle of the afternoon, Lyarra Stark is born, the fifth and final daughter of the King and Queen in the North.

And no one was happier than the King himself.


	30. Chapter 30 - Visible Pregnancy 3

No one knew why the dragon queen had called a small meeting and so as they all gathered in the great hall, they could only wonder.

Taking her place at the head table, Sansa's eyes drift towards the queen that already sits in her place at the center. Her elaborate braids are as detailed as ever, the soft tendrils of curls falling out to frame her soft features. Who would ever have known what a harsh, cold heart hid behind such soft, perfect face. "Thank you for coming together on such short notice," the dragon queen speaks as she glances around the room. There are few Northern lords within the room, none in fact, save for Lord Royce who sits beside Ser Davos. Most are outside the walls of Winterfell, completing any and al final tasks before the Night King strikes. They all should have been out there. "I have only a simple matter I'd like to discuss with you here in this room." Beside her, Jon shifts and Sansa feels his hand brush across hers beneath the table- a quick touch that ignites a fire within her.

At that moment, Tyrion steps forward from where he stands just behind Daenerys, his green eyes dark, his expression unreadable. "As some of you know, Lord Tyrion was once married to Lady Stark," Daenerys speaks and at once, Sansa feels her heartbeat increase its speed. Jon stiffens- noticeably- and turns to look at the woman on his other side. "In an effort to preserve the alliance between the North and myself, I would like to propose that such a marriage be reinstated." She smiles, a smug look in her violet eyes as she shoots Sansa a quick glance. "Lord Tyrion is gracious enough to accept her pregnancy and says he will raise the child as his own."

Those within the room all turned, their eyes darting between the dragon queen and their Lady of Winterfell. Sansa does her best to keep her face impassive, though her blood has begun to boil. _How dare she, _she thinks, sapphire eyes narrowing as they turn upon the Targaryen queen. _How dare she think she can command me to marry._ As if the child within her senses the danger, they shift, reminding her that she must keep calm. She opens her mouth to retort, to speak against such a marriage- she would run away from Winterfell, from her own home, her own family, rather than be forced to marry against her will yet again. But before she can speak, another is speaking for her.

"Lady Stark shall not marry," Jon rules without hesitation, his dark eyes falling upon Daenerys. Let her rail against him, let her turn away from their alliance. He would die before he allowed Sansa to marry someone she did not wish to marry. He would die before he let another man have her. "She shall not marry until it is her choice. Sansa, is it your wish to marry Lord Tyrion?"

Sansa blinks, realizing Jon is speaking to her. "N-no," she says when she finds her voice, shaking her head as she turns to look at Tyrion. "I appreciate the gracious offer, your grace," she continues, shifting her gaze from Tyrion to Daenerys. "But I am not inclined to marry anyone." Daenerys looks as if she's swallowed a lemon, her face pinched in her anger though she tries to keep it from showing through. She is quite unused to being defied, she supposes, and had expected to hear nothing but agreement when it came to her sudden proposal.

"You will marry as your queen commands you," Daenerys speaks through gritted teeth, violet eyes narrowing as she focuses her gaze upon her.

"I see no command from my queen." Sansa quips back, leaning forward in her chair, one hand curling around her belly. "When you sit upon the Iron Throne, perhaps then you may command your nobles to do as you please... But until then, I will remain unmarried." She knows she's gone too far, that she's spoken to far out of turn, but there's no taking back the words now that they've been spoken. Suddenly, it matters not what this foreign queen wants or says or commands. And so she rises from her chair, belly on display in her dark gray gown, and turns her back on the woman who calls herself her queen.

"You have not been dismissed, Lady Stark," Daenerys calls, pausing Sansa as she walks towards the door across the hall. The Lady of Winterfell only turns to throw a glance over her shoulder before she continues on her way, hearing the sounds of footsteps as Brienne and Arya follow her out the door, forming a protective wall between her and the angry violet eyes that follow her out.

As soon as the door swings shut behind her, Sansa leans against the wall, breathing deep, even beaths as her hands come around her belly. "Are you alright?" Arya asks as she approaches, touching her sister's elbow with careful concern. Sansa nods, doing her best to calm her racing heart. She knew she risked danger by defying the dragon queen in such a way, but she could not help it. "You should rest," Arya continues and again, Sansa nods, allowing the two women to escort her back towards her rooms.

[ x x x ]

_Sansa... _

She's dreaming of Jon; of his dark, knowing eyes and the warmth his touch spreads through her. _Sansa... _She's dreaming of his voice, of the way it sounds every time he spoke her name. "Sansa..." She wakes, realizing only then that she's not been dreaming of his voice at all, for her sits there beside her in her own bed. "Dreaming, sweetheart?" He asks softly, a chuckle leaving his lips as he helps her sit upright. How long had it been since she had last heard him laugh?

"What's happening?" She asks at once, fear creeping into her heart as she reaches for his hands.

Jon smiles and shakes his head. "Soft, my love. I've come to fetch you is all."

"Fetch me for what?" She questions, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she sits up a bit straighter in bed. "It is the middle of the night!"

"Dress and you shall see," Jon commands, rising up from the bed and drawing her up with him. "Can you manage alone?" He teases and she rolls her eyes, slipping from her heavy nightgown into the discarded gray dress she'd been wearing earlier that day. "Let me..." He says softly when she shrugs into it, the laces hanging freely at her back. And so she turns around, allowing him to lace her into the gown. A moment later he reaches for the fur cloak she had draped over a chair and fastens it around her himself. "Come." Is all he says as he takes her hand, leading her from the room without another word.

Arya stands just outside her door, surprising her even more. "Arya!" Sansa speaks in a hushed whisper, blinking at her little sister who merely smirks and gestures for them to follow her. The trio navigates the darkened corridors, nothing to lead them but the memory of the halls in their feet. They walk until they reach the main hall, where Arya quietly opens the double doors that lead out into the courtyard. "Jon, truly where are we going?" Sansa whispers as he draws her out into the cold, midnight air. But Jon merely smiles and shakes his head as they begin to cross the yard towards the godswood.

And then she sees that two people are beneath the heart tree, a single torch stuck into the ground at their feet. "Jon..." Sansa whispers as they approach, a new realization beginning to dawn upon her. It's Bran there waiting for them, as well as Samwell Tarly, Jon's closest friend.

"You said you would not marry again unless it was your choice..." Jon begins softly, turning her to face him as they stand there before Sam, with Arya just behind them. "Let me be your choice." He reaches out a hand, tenderly stroking her cheek, skin chilled from the cold winter air. "Marry me, Sansa." She's begun to cry before he's even finished speaking, nodding her head a moment before she throws her arms around him. Now she knows that the truth of Jon's birth has been made evident to both Arya and Sam and he's brought her two siblings down to witness this most important of moments.

So it is right there beneath the heart tree, she and Jon marry.

When they return inside half an hour later, he joins her in her rooms, undressing her slowly in the darkness of her room. While they had been gone, someone has stoked the fire in the hearth and Sansa reminds herself to thank Brienne for being a part of this night as well. He tugs her gently down into the bed and his hands wander over her- from her breasts to her hips, across her swelling belly and down to her thighs. He presses kisses against every inch of her skin, lighting a fire with every touch of his lips.

Their first night together as husband and wife is sweet and slow, gentle loving that brings her to tears when it's over. Her heart has never been more full. "Sleep well, wife," he murmurs as he leans over her one last time, brushing his lips across hers for a final good night kiss. "I love you," his voice ghosts across her skin before he pulls her into his arms and burrows them beneath the furs upon her bed. "Good night." His whisper is against her ear as she settles back against him, his touch warm and safe.

"Good night," she whispers back before she closes her eyes and drifts off, her last waking thought of how she had thought she'd never feel true happiness again. Now, she felt so much joy she thought she might truly burst. Never was there a luckier woman in all of Westeros.


	31. Chapter 31 - Jon Almost Dies

Her heart is racing as she fumbles over his clothing, ripping his shirt away as she tries to find the wound that bleeds so heavily. The first moment she saw him, half carried between Tormund and Davos, will forever be imprinted upon her brain. But now he's settled into a bed that isn't his, but rather her own- her chambers had been on the side of Winterfell that still yet stood tall and strong. "Light a fire," she commands of the first person through the doors. It's Arya, looking pale and fearful as she stares at the bloody mess that is Jon on the bed. "Arya! Please!" Her voice brings Arya back to the moment and at once, the younger girl is at work, stroking the once dying embers in the hearth. It breathes back to life and the room is suddenly bright with firelight.

Fear courses through her veins but Sansa pushes through it, crossing the room to grab her sewing basket that sits atop the table. She fishes out a needle and a long stretch of black thread; dropping down onto the bed beside him, she presses linen against the sword wound to his right side, a deep gash that she's fearful won't stop bleeding. In no time at all, the linen is soaked through and she exchanges it for another one. "Arya, I need for you to go down to the kitchens." She speaks without looking up from the wound she's putting pressure upon. Jon has dozens of other, smaller injuries that will need looked after as well. As will Arya, though her's are anything but life threatening. "In a cabinet on the western wall you will find herbs in bottles. I have them labeled, you must bring me yarrow and honey," she knows very little of herb work, but she recalls her mother using honey dressings to clean sword injuries Robb and Jon had received as children playing in the yard. "Hurry." She holds her breath until she hears Arya dart off, leaving her and Jon alone in the room.

He groans suddenly, his dark eyes fluttering open, their gaze focusing upon her face. "S-Sansa..." He whispers, his hand suddenly falling into place over hers, still yet pressing against his bleeding wound. "You're safe..." He sounds weak, weaker than she's ever heard, and fear leaps into her throat. "You should... Worry about others... Arya..."

"Arya is just fine." Sansa speaks sharply, fighting against the tears gathering in her eyes. "You must rest, Jon, all will be well." She feels him squeeze her hand gently, his voice softly speaking her name bringing her gaze back to his face.

"I think this is it for me..." He murmurs, his hand reaching up to gently touch her face.

"Jon, you musn't say such things," she's choking on her tears now, unable to stop them as they roll down her cheeks. "Please you must live, you must." She slides her hand over his against her cheek, giving it a tight squeeze. "I'm with child, Jon. Please... Please don't leave me to raise our child alone." Beneath her gaze, his eyes widen, shock falling into place on his features. Despite his pain, despite his suffering, he feels something new rising up within him. Suddenly, there comes a new will to live, a new reason to fight for the life restored to him. "Please..." She begs softly and to her surprise, Jon smiles and gives a single nod before the darkness of unconsciousness claims him once again.

It's then that Arya returns to the room and with her she's brought the yarrow and honey.  
"Mix them," Sansa instructs of her sister, gesturing at the empty water basin on the table beside her. Pulling the linen away from Jon's injury, she sees that the bleeding has stopped just enough that she leans in and whispers a soft apology to his sleeping form before plunging the needle into his skin. She painstakingly sews up his injury, pressing it with the crushed yarrow and honey mixture and then wraps a few layers of linen around his waist, to protect the injury and to keep it clean. And then she sets to work on all of the others- his body is littered with cuts and burns and bruises. One by one, she cleans every one, bandaging them all with the honey and yarrow mixture to help in the healing process.

Only when she's done does she stand up and turn to Arya who's hovered near the bedside the whole time. "Your turn," Sansa says to her little sister, before she takes her by the arm to lead her from the room. As she goes to open her door herself, it nearly flies off the hinges as Tormund rushes in, his worry evident. "Stay with him, won't you?" She asks the wildling man, who is battered and bruised, but mostly unhurt. The man nods and slips by them, taking the seat beside the bed that Sansa had previously occupied. "Send for me if he worsens," she says, her heart skipping a beat at the thought. And then she draws Arya from the room, leading her down to the next room, a spare room that at least had a bed for her to rest in.

An hour later, she emerges from the room that now houses Arya, having dressed her sister's few injuries and administrated a sleeping potion that would allow her to find the rest she so deserved. And then she returns to the room she's placed Jon in, finding Tormund awake but groggy at his bedside. "Go find a place to rest," she says as she comes to him, placing a comforting hand to the redheaded man's shoulder. Tormund looks up and over at her for a long moment before he finally nods and rises. The look they exchange is one of mutual love for the man in the bed, a look of worry they both feel for his life.

When Tormund has gone, she refills the water basin from the pitcher and washes Jon and Arya's blood from her hands. She strips from her blood stained gown and tosses it into the fire- she has no use for the ruined gown, now. Pulling on an older, well worn gown of black and gray, she drops into the chair beside the bed and knows she can do little else but to wait. And so she takes Jon by the hand and she does just that: she waits.

[ x x x ]

It takes two days for Jon's fever to break and when it does, Sansa sleeps over the foot of his bed. She's not left his side in those two days, eating only when prompted, sleeping only when she falls asleep draped over him. He blinks back into the waking world, feeling quite similar to how he had felt the day of his resurrection from the dead. That alone tells him how close he had come to dying. He recalls it, the sword injury that had nearly done him in, from a wight that had gotten him with a quick, well timed jab. That, accompanied with his other many wounds, had been more than enough to do him in.

And he'd been ready to give up, as much as he didn't want to admit it. Death would have been the sweet release to a life of hardship, a life of war and deceit. He was tired of faking, tired of pretending. He just wanted things to be easy, selfish or not, he didn't want to worry about anyone else's battles. He only wanted to think about what was best for him... And for her.

Speaking of her, there she slept at the end of his bed, red hair disheveled, her gown wrinkled to hell. Though she slept, she looked exhausted and Jon knew it was because of him that she looked so weary. And she must have been mourning the loss that was Theon- he still could recall her hollow scream when his body had been brought in, the last thing he had heard before collapsing that night. It was then that that he recalled her words, the only words that had been able to spark the fight back into him. _I'm with child. _Those three words had been enough to remind him that his life wasn't over yet, that he still had someone to live for. Now, there would be two. "Jon..." Her sleepy voice filters into his mind and he feels the weight of her lift off his legs as she sits up. "You're awake!" She surges forward, reaching for his hands as she sits upon the edge of the bed at his hips. "How do you feel?"

"How do I feel?" He asks, forcing himself up onto an elbow, ignoring the sharp pain it caused his healing body. "How do _you_ feel?" Suddenly, worry was rushing through him; was she sleeping enough? Eating enough? "You should be resting, not sitting up all night at my bedside!" He admonishes as she leans over him to gently push him back onto his pillow, tut tutting about the wounds he would reopen with his movements. "Sansa!"

"I am fine, Jon," she finally says as she sinks back into the chair she'd once been asleep in. "You nearly died only two nights ago but you worry about me?" She asks with a small shake of her head, though Jon reaches for her hand and holds on tight. Clearly from his reaction, Jon recalls the words she'd spoken to him out of fear and desperation the night of the fight against the Night King. "You remember what I said to you, then?" She asks softly and Jon gives a nod, squeezing her hand in the most tender of ways. "I am certain it will come with spring," she says, uncertain how she knows spring will come again, though she believes with all of her heart that it will. She doesn't tell him how the morning she had first woke with morning sickness, she'd woken from a dream of direwolves and three children playing in the godswood. Like a dream of the future, she had known those children to be hers and Jon's. "I am sorry if it changes things," she adds, knowing he just barely could keep his head afloat when it came to the dragon queen. "Now you only have more to worry about."

Jon shakes his head, sliding his other hand into place over hers. "You have taken worry from me," he admits, smiling slightly up at her. "All I have ever dreamed of is a family, Sansa. You have given it to me." He is at home with her there in her rooms, knowing soon her belly would begin to curve with the life inside of her. A life of their creation. "This will all be over soon and then we can be a family. You and me and our babe," he watches as her blue eyes spill over with tears, reaching up to gently brush them from her skin. "We will find happiness when all of this is over," he means this final war with Daenerys, the one that is yet to come. She nods and smiles down at him, feeling for the first time a true flutter of happiness within her heart.

Soon, spring will come, and with it their happiness will bloom like the flowers in the garden. It is all they can hope for.


	32. Chapter 32 - Jim Frost Arrives

It seemed as if every able bodied man in the North had turned out for the tournament to win the last open spot in the queensguard. Protected by her ever loyal, Brienne of Tarth, the Queen in the North had insisted she needed no more than her, but the Lords and Brienne herself had insisted upon adding just a few more men to her guard. And so through rounds of the tournament, three more men had been added to the guard, men from faithful houses that had remained beside House Stark for many years prior.

But, there was still one final place that remained, and so it would be filled on this last day of the tournament.

From where she sat in the queen's box, Sansa watches as the first of the final competitors steps out onto the battlefield. It was a makeshift battlefield of course, a large circle roped off that gave the competitors just enough space to fight with ease. There was no death matches, no blood to be drawn, merely a sword battle until one man's sword was knocked from his hands. Only the best of the best would be admitted into the queen's guard. The first man approaches the box and bows low over his arm, offering his queen a confident smile. She returns his smile and turns her head only when the next competitor steps onto the field.

At once, her heart is in her throat. She knows it is Jon, though his hair is long and wild. His dark eyes find hers as he crosses the space to approach the box. Without a word, he fishes into his tunic and pulls out a single winter rose, it's blue petals soft against her skin as she takes it from his hand. "Good luck, sir," she says to him with a smile, her heart beating faster as Jon turns to face his opponent. She tucks the rose he's given her into her hair and recalls how Jon's father had once given his mother a crown of winter roses at a tournament once, before pledging his love for her. She smiles.

It is a well fought match, so close that for only a single moment does Sansa worry that he will lose the fight. But in the end, Jon comes out as the winner. As customary, Brienne stepped out onto the field to join the winner- if she recognized Jon, then her features did not betray her. "Your name, sir?" She asked of him before all those witness to the fight.

"Jim Frost," Jon says clearly, his voice ringing out, and Sansa has to bite her tongue to keep from laughing aloud. His dark eyes are twinkling as they fall upon her, still there in the queen's box, his mouth upturned with his amusement. He comes closer once again, this time to bow to her as a true knight might bow to his queen, raising himself only when she bids him to do so. "I pledge my life to you, my queen." He speaks, the words _my queen _having more meaning than ever before. For once, he his more than willing to devote his life to a queen, to a woman. This woman who has captured him, heart and soul. He had tried to stay away from her, but could not, and upon hearing the need for a new queensguard, had stolen away from Castle Black to take his place at her side.

Sansa smiles again as she extends her hand out over the box for him to take, as she had done for all other new members of her guard. But with Jon, she feels it down to her very core as he presses his lips against the back of her hand, thumb ghosting across her knuckles as he hesitates to let her go. "You are most welcome here, Jim Frost," she says with an amused sort of smile, finally drawing her hand away from his grasp. _Welcome home, _is what she wants to say, but here before all of these people she cannot. And so instead she tilts her head, red hair cascading across a shoulder as she finally speaks. "Welcome to Winterfell."


	33. Chapter 33 - Sansa Condemned to Death

Fear rushes through her, it is a feeling she will never grow accustomed to, no matter how often she has felt it. She has a lot of time on her hands, locked into her own rooms as she awaits Daenerys' sentence, a lot of time to reflect on every single moment that has brought her to where she was right then. It was true, though she had sworn to Jon she'd tell no one the truth of his birth, she knew she could not sit idly by while Daenerys Targaryen took the Iron Throne. Not when there was a better candidate right there beneath all of all their noses.

That was why she penned the raven to Cersei. Though she trusted the woman about as much as she trusted the dragon queen, she knew this would be one thing they could agree upon. Daenerys Targaryen could not become queen. Unbeknownst to Cersei, she also wrote to the new Prince of Dorne, hoping he could be swayed to their side. She had little to offer these people, aside from the true heir to the throne and proof of the Targaryen queen's descent into madness. Had those ravens gone out, she might have already gotten an answer.

But Daenerys had not trusted her (not that she blamed her, Sansa supposes) and had every outgoing letter searched, despite her lack of true right to do so. And so Sansa's plot had been discovered and she had been slapped with treason, thus resulting in her confinement to her chambers. She feels a bit smug though, thinking back to three days before when Daenerys had caught her and Jon together in his rooms, effectively ending whatever bond she had thought they shared. But even thinking back to Daenerys' truly shocked face can bring her little comfort for in a few short hours it will be dawn and she has a hunch that is when they will come for her, to draw her out to her death by dragon fire. Suddenly, her stomach lurches and she surges towards the wash basin, throwing up until she can no more. Wiping her mouth, she drops onto her bed, blaming the sickness on the thought of death that looms ahead of her.

And yet... She recalls how the morning before she had been ill and the morning before that as well. She recalls how earlier in that week, she had realized she'd not yet bled that month. Sansa knows what this means, of course. Of all the times to realize she's with child, Sansa can't believe it has to be now. Misery runs through her as she falls back against her pillows, burying her face into them, tears threatening to spill over. The night the child was conceived still yet burns fresh in her mind, the night before Jon had left for Dragonstone. A night she had held onto all these long weeks with him gone and then his return with the queen on his arm.

She rolls onto her side and curls up, pressing a hand across the flat plane of her abdomen, knowing well there was a life within her right then and there. A life that would be snuffed out in just a few short hours along with her own. And that is the only reason she begins to cry, soft sobs that steal her breath as she lays in the bed the child was conceived in.

[ x x x ]

"Please, your grace, I beg of you..."

"Begging is most unbecoming of a man, Jon Snow," Daenerys cuts him off as she pulls on her white fur coat. "Sansa has committed treason against me and truly, she has betrayed your trust by attempting to tell the world of your birth when you asked her not to." Daenerys does not remind him that she had forbid him from talking about it either, though she wishes to rub it in his face that she had been right all along. Daenerys had never trusted the Lady of Winterfell, with her dark sapphire eyes and icy smile. "She has sealed her own fate."

It is nearly dawn and Jon knows he's run out of time, he knows he's failed. He will lose Sansa this morning but he will not let her go to her death alone. In the privacy of his own rooms, Jon knows he will take the life restored to him so many months ago, because there is no life without Sansa. There is not point to his life if she is not in it. And so he turns to go, to return to his rooms for a few minutes of torture, of waiting to hear the screech of the dragon before he burns Sansa for nothing at all.

"Where are you going, Jon?" Daenerys asks sharply, her voice forcing him back around. "You will come." He flinches, opening his mouth to protest, but the look Daenerys shoots him tells him if he does not walk himself, he will be dragged by her Dothraki. And so the fight flees from him and he sags, his steps heavy and slow as he follows Daenerys out of the room and into the hall.

They must have locked Arya away, or else he'd have found her out there, fighting to get to Sansa. He imagines her, small and distraught, upending the table and destroying every inch of her room as she too waits to hear the sound of her sister burning.

They make their way down to the courtyard and out the gate, into the wide open field that sits between Winterfell and the forest. Sansa already is there, shackled and placed between two Dothraki. She is pale and shaking, her cloak left behind, and the gown she wears is old and worn. Jon can't raise his face to look at her- he doesn't deserve to look her in the face on this morning when she is to lose her life because of him. He's already decided anyways, he will step into the fire when Drogon burns her. He won't block the flames from consuming her, but at least they might die together. If nothing else, he will stand beside her even in death.

Drogon and Rhaegal fly overhead and both land a few moments after their mother arrives, though none take notice of Rhaegal's close proximity not to his mother, but to Jon. "Sansa Stark, you have been found guilty of the crime of treason against your queen." Daenerys calls out, her voice ringing in the silence of the morning. "You have been sentenced to death for such a crime." Beside her, Tyrion looks grim, as if torn between remaining silent and speaking up. "Drogon..." The dragon looms over her shoulder, its menacing gaze falling upon Sansa where she stands.

The fear that runs through her is icy cold; she's never been this close to death before and it's certainly not the way she ever expected to go. She spares Jon one final glance and only wishes they had more time together. The Dothraki step away, out of the line of fire, and she knows it's coming. Any one of these moments will be her last. And then she closes her eyes as Daenerys says the word she expects to be the final thing she ever hears: _dracarys. _But instead, she hears the rustle of wings, the crunch of snow beneath racing feet. Her eyes open and there is Jon, standing right in front of her and in front of him is Rhaegal. The dragon growls low and Drogon responds by opening his mouth and shrieking. "Rhaegal, move!" Daenerys commands when she's shaken off her surprise, but it returns a moment later when Rhaegal instead pins her with his eyes, another growl coming deep from within him.

From where Jon stands, he understands; he doesn't know how, he doesn't know why, but he understands all the same. Without warning, he's scrambling up onto Rhaegal's back as he has done a few times now, and reaching down for her. "Sansa!" He extends out his hand and she raises hers, still yet chained together, and he pulls her up onto the great scaled back of the dragon. "Hold on!" He bellows as Rhaegal unfurls his wings and takes off into the sky. Sansa is screaming as they fly higher and faster, taking them further and further away from Winterfell, away from danger.

They fly until Rhaegal deems them safe, for he finally lands on the outskirts of the forest, a stream iced over just a few yards away from where they stand. Jon slides down from Rhaegal's back and then raises his arms to catch her as she too slides down, shaking from fear and cold. He can do nothing but draw her into his tight embrace, hoping his body will be enough to keep her warm. But he knows it won't be and he knows they will need to seek shelter soon. "Are you alright?" He asks when he draws back, holding her at arm's length. She is pale and weary, but she nods all the same. "I thought I was truly going to lose you," he whispers, pulling her back into his embrace for a long moment. It's then that he pulls his fur cloak from his shoulders and swings it around hers, despite her protest. "Get warm." Is all he says before he goes to step away, but the touch of her hand to his arm makes him turn back.

"I have to tell you something," she whispers, shivering in his cloak. Jon clasps his hands with hers and holds fast, his dark eyes finding hers. "I'm with child." Three simple words that utterly change his world. Three words that change _everything. _He can't begin to think about how they had only just come from what would have been her death, _their _death, as well as their child's. A child... He can barely believe it. But looking into her eyes, he knows she speaks the truth. And he recalls the night they must have conceived with fond memory.

As if he really needed it, Jon knows he has even more of a reason to protect her. To find her shelter and keep her safe. To keep her warm and to keep her healthy. He will find them somewhere to go, somewhere that she can be protected from even Daenerys Targaryen. Then he will go and fight the final battle, the final war for the throne. If it's the last thing he does, he will take it from Daernerys if only it meant protecting Sansa. The last thing he wanted was to be King of anything, but if it was for Sansa, he would take any crown or fight any fight. For Sansa, he would lay down his life, no... He would fight even harder to survive. For her, he will fight to live, and for their child too.

They would find happiness at the end of this fight, he would make sure of it.


	34. Chapter 34 - Pulling Pins

He catches her as she walks alone down the corridor towards her rooms. "Sansa," he calls out to her, heart skipping a beat when she turns around, a smile upon her lips. As always, just the sight of that smile threatened to undo him. "I thought you might be in bed already," he says as she gestures for him to follow after her, opening the door to her rooms when they approach it a moment later.

"I was seeing to the last of the preparations," she says, shifting her gaze towards him as she closed the door behind them. Her rooms were brightly lit with a fire in the hearth, spreading warmth throughout the room. It seeps into her skin, into her bones, but she supposes it's not all because of the warmth of the fire. Sansa knows these are the last few hours of peace before the battle begins and she can't help but to feel a tremor of pleasure that Jon has come to her rooms in these final hours. "Everything seems to be ready," she adds as she brushes her hair across a shoulder, gesturing for him to sit wherever he liked. Jon watches as she sheds her cloak, draping it across her bed before she sinks into the chair before her looking glass. It's then that she hears footsteps and a moment later, she's staring at Jon's reflection in the mirror. He looms over her shoulder, his stoic expression softening as their gazes meet in the glass.

Jon can't quite say what makes him do what he does next- he supposes he could blame it on knowing he very well could die within hours. The last thing he wants to do is die without at least feeling her fiery red hair against his skin. And so he reaches out, gently prying the first of many pins from her elaborate knot of braids at the back of her head. He sees her close her eyes and smile in the mirror and when she opens her eyes, her gaze is understanding. As always, she gets him completely, without even a word being spoken. For just one night, he wanted normalcy. He wanted to pretend that things were well and there was not a war looming at their door. He wanted to be a man alone with the woman he loved, even if he wasn't supposed to. "Ser Davos said everything was nearly done," Jon speaks softly as his hands draw another pin free and then another. "Thank you... For all you've done to prepare for this." He thinks of her working tirelessly into the nights, ensuring there would be enough food to feed all of the North. He thinks of all the meals she skipped in the last few days just to be certain everyone else had enough to eat. He thinks of her commanding the gates to remain open until the very last moment, just to be certain everyone that could fit into Winterfell was there. He thinks of the extra supplies she had sent to those in the surrounding areas that could not come. All of the people she had thought of, all of the things she had ensured were complete so her people were safe.

"It's my duty," she whispers as she feels her hair begin to slip free, the pins nearly all pulled from her braids. When he's pulled the final one, she feels him begin to unwind the braids, his fingers slipping through her red strands like a lover might do. She cannot begin to express the feelings rushing through her in a moment such as this, as intimate as any kiss could be. "Jon..." She murmurs his name as she turns around in the chair, her hair falling all around her face as she peers up into his face. He's staring down at her as if he's seeing her for the very first time, as if she's a dream come to life before his eyes. "You'll come back to me, won't you?" She asks the one question she's been too afraid to ask, too afraid to think about. A life without him... Was no life at all.

He stoops down, one hand gently resting on her shoulder, his face inches from her own. "I'll always come back to you," he says softly, tipping his forehead down to meet hers. "Always." As he goes to pull back, she's leaning in, capturing his mouth with a kiss that steals the breath from his lungs. It takes only a moment for him to kiss her back, his other hand reaching up to slide into her fire kissed hair. She's on her feet then, kissing him with a new fierceness, her hands making their way into his hair, fingers threading through his unruly curls. Jon snakes his other arm around her waist, palm pressing into the small of her back, the heat of her skin warm through her heavy gown. "Sansa..." He murmurs her name when he breaks the kiss a moment later, his hand slipping from her hair to trace the outline of her body all the way down to her hips.

"If we're going to die tomorrow, I want to know what it's like to lay with a man I love," she whispers with a sense of boldness she's never felt before. Jon blinks, drawing back a hairsbreadth though warmth is spreading through him like wildfire. "Unless you don't want-" he silences her with a kiss of her own, one that sweeps her off of her feet. And so she takes him by the hand and draws him towards her bed, drawing him down upon it. He gently pushes her back against her pillows, returning to the passionate kiss they had only just ceased, his hands making quick work of exploring every inch of her still clothed body. Jon can feel her own hands untying the laces of his jerkin, tossing it to the floor beside her bed. It takes him only a moment more to begin to free her from her own layers of clothes, her gown carelessly thrown aside as he kisses her again. If tonight was going to be the last night of his life, this was certainly how he wanted to spend it.

Later, Jon lays awake beside her sleeping form, propped up upon an elbow so he might peer down at her. She sleeps peacefully, a hand tucked beneath a cheek, her red hair spread across her white pillow like a fan. He leans over her and brushes a kiss against her temple, knowing without any doubt in his mind that what he felt for her was true and utter love. It was stronger than anything he's ever felt in his life and it warms him to his core. This moment, right there, with her tucked beneath the furs, pressed against his body, would be the one he would carry with him into battle. He would carry with him the warmth of her skin, the softness of her hair, the fierceness of her kiss.

If his life truly did come to an end on the battlefield, he would take with him to death the memory of her. And that... That was enough.


	35. Chapter 35 - Vengeful Daenerys

"I came here because of _you," _the dragon queen hisses, her violet eyes dark with grief, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "I came here to fight your war because I loved you and you repay me with betrayal after betrayal." Her heart is sinking, sinking... Though her blood it boils as she thinks back to Missandei, as she thinks back to Viserion, as she thinks back to Jorah, to her armies, and to the love she had given him. "It's because of you I've lost everything, Jon Snow." And now she thinks back to nights before, the night of the feast held in celebration of defeating the Night King... When she caught him in bed with the girl he had once called sister. The final betrayal of her heart, proof of where his loyalties lay. Where they always had lay.

"Your grace, please..."

"No!" She cuts him off, eyes wild as she takes a single step towards him. "No... I shall not be swayed, not again." Daenerys breathes in and out, nostrils flaring as a fresh wave of anger rushes through her. _I will make him pay, _she thinks, _I will make him taste what it is like to lose everything you love. _Her mind wanders to the beautiful red headed woman, the one who had looked down upon her from the moment of her arrival in Winterfell. Sansa Stark had never once respected her as queen, though she should have. Sansa Stark had undermined her at every turn and had gone to Jon's bed when she had known he was hers.

Jon will taste despair, she vows, he will know the feeling of true and utter loss. He will sink to his knees beside the charred remains of the woman he chose to love and he will know that he has brought it upon himself. She raises a hand to dismiss him, but only after she speaks what very well could be the last words she speaks to him. "When the Iron Throne is mine, you will see Jon Snow, you will see what I meant when I said I would take what was mine by fire and blood."

That is her final vow to him.


	36. Chapter 36 - Rhaegal Knows

She walks silently among the trees, lost in thought as she makes her way through the godswood. Her mind is a whirlwind of thoughts- starting with her realization that within her she carried a life. A life she and Jon created that night before he left for Dragonstone some weeks ago. There is more than just that on her mind; another war looms just ahead of them, a war which she wishes they did not have to take part in. In truth, Daenerys Targaryen was the last person she thought should take the throne. Even Cersei would be better than her. But there was no escaping what was to come now.

A sigh escapes her as she passes the last line of trees, stepping out into the open field that stands between Winterfell and the forest. Overhead, she hears a dragon screech and at once her eyes are on the sky, watching as the single dragon circles over where she stands. It is Rhaegal, the smaller of the two remaining dragons, the one named for Jon's true father and the very one he rode into battle against the Night King. She knows she should feel fear from the creature, but even as it comes closer and closer to the ground, she feels no fear at all.

Rhaegal touches down upon the snowy land just ahead of her a moment later, his great wings folding in as his golden eyes fall upon her. She sucks in a breath, heart racing as she takes a tentative step closer to the dragon, well aware that at any moment the creature could burn her into ash. And yet... Somehow she knows he won't hurt her. Somehow she knows that Rhaegal trusts her. That is what propels her forward the last few feet, until she is standing right there in front of him, so close that she can touch. With a shaking hand, she reaches out, slowly extending her arm until her palm is flat against the dragon's scales, the feel of them beneath her skin unlike anything she's ever felt before. Sansa doesn't even realize she's been holding her breath until she releases it when Rhaegal makes a soft sound, something like the purr of a cat, though with a deep rumble that reverberates in her bones. "You are not so bad, perhaps," she whispers as she strokes the place between his eyes, the dragon leaning into her touch like he understood the words that she spoke. "I never thought I would be petting a dragon," she chuckles as Rhaegal grumbles low in his chest, a sound that lacks any kind of aggression at all. For once, she feels utterly safe; now she can understand why Daenerys fears nothing at all, for what was there to fear when one had a dragon at your side? And she had two.

It's then that the dragon moves his great head from beneath her touch, surprising her even more when he nudges gently at her body with his snout. That's when she realizes what he's doing, what he's saying. Rhaegal knows she's pregnant, and somehow, someway, the dragon knows the child within her belongs to his rider. The dragon nuzzles at her belly, his breath warm through her many layers of clothing and she can't help but to smile as she touches his scales yet again. "Will you protect him?" Sansa asks of the dragon, not knowing if she meant Jon or the child within her, perhaps she even meant both. There was no doubt in her mind, even so early, that it was a boy growing inside of her. A new white wolf to follow in his father's footsteps, a young white wolf named Robb Stark that would someday be called King in the North. "Will you keep him safe for me?" The dragon raises its head back to face her, those same eyes staring back at her as if he understood her perfectly. She smiles, nodding, before the dragon backs up and takes flight, soaring higher and higher into the sky until he's gone, off towards the east to perhaps find his brother.

When she returns to Winterfell, she finds Jon in the courtyard, deep in conversation with a few of his men, perhaps speaking over battle plans for the war they ride out for tomorrow morning. The moment he sees her, he's excusing himself from the conversation and comes striding across the yard to join her as she walks back towards the castle. "I thought I'd have to send a search party out for you," he comments as they walk up the stone steps and through the double doors into the main hall. "I saw Rhaegal flying overhead, did he bother you?" He knows little of this dragon yet, but he trusts the creature, as strange as it was.

Sansa smiles, shaking her head as she loops her arm through his. "The complete opposite, rather," she says as they turn the corner, making their way down the hall towards her own rooms. "He promised me that he would take care of you when you go to war," she giggles when Jon eyes her skeptically, though surprise skirts across his features. "Don't ask me how I know, I just do," she pushes open the door to her rooms, allowing him to slip inside first, following after him and closing the door behind her.

They have just one night left together and they aren't going to let it go to waste.


	37. Chapter 37 - Jon is the Father

As she strolls through the courtyard, she notices Rhaegal circling overhead.

Daenerys stops in her walk, having been on her way to where her children usually stayed, just on the outskirts of Winterfell. She turns around then, following along in the direction of where Rhaegal flew, surprised to see him touching down on the ground quite a distance away. She walks quickly and through the cover of the trees, she can see that Rhaegal is not alone where he's landed. No, in fact, the first thing that she sees is the vivid red hair peaking through the trees. It's Sansa Stark standing there, facing her dragon without an ounce of fear on her features, truly a surprising sight to behold. And then there is Jon at her side, stepping out from beside her to reach for Rhaegal- for _her _dragon.

They approach him as if he belongs to them, as if Rhaegal is not her own child, born from the funeral pyre of her own dead husband. She can still recall the feel of his warm scales against her belly. A shudder races through her as she watches Sansa reach out, her glove removed as she places her palm against Rhaegal's head. Her dragon is purring, a sound Daenerys rarely even hears herself, and she's full of white hot rage yet again. For a moment, she thinks about showing herself to them, in fact she thinks about taking her dragons from this place entirely. But she can't walk away, not yet.

And then... Something else entirely happens.

She watches in silence as Rhaegal leans down his massive head, his snout nuzzling against Sansa's belly. Anger curls in her own belly and it leaves her barely breathing; Daenerys clenches her fists at her sides as Jon laughs, his own hand patting at the dragon before them, his snout still yet resting against the Stark girl's belly. _It cannot be, _Daenerys thinks as she sags against the tree, _it just cannot be. _She watches as Jon's hand pulls from Rhaegal and instead slips into place against Sansa's belly, his face full of pride and joy. Though she could not believe it, Daenerys knows what this scene before her means. And now she understands the words Sansa had spoken to her only a few days before... _The child isn't a bastard. _Jon had fathered her babe, clearly before he had even sailed for Dragonstone so many weeks ago.

It's a moment later that Rhaegal takes off and Sansa is laughing as she points up at him, her and Jon's hands still yet clasped across her belly. They speak words she cannot hear then and turn as if they mean to walk towards where Daenerys stands. She remains frozen for only a moment, until her anger begins to thaw her out, and she turns on the spot and makes her way back towards Winterfell. Now she's beginning to understand- Jon never loved her, never cared about her at all. He had done this all for her, for that redheaded woman he was supposed to call sister. He had done it for her armies and her dragons and for nothing else. It had not been for her or his love for her. Daenerys feels no sorrow, only anger.

And they will know it.


	38. Chapter 38 - Jon Dies

"They say the fighting is over..."

Sansa turns when the woman speaks to her. "I've heard," she responds softly, though she turns back to face her father's crumbling statue. At her feet, his head lays, as it had once laid on the dust covered platform in King's Landing. A chill races her spine.

"Come up, my lady," the woman continues, but Sansa shakes her head.

"Jon said he would come for me here," is all she can say. The woman bites her lip but finally gives in, nodding silently before she turns on her heel and disappears up the crumbling stone steps. Sansa stares hard at the broken statue of her father, recalling the words that Jon had promised her just hours before. _I'll always come back to you. _She touches her belly, where deep inside of her she grows a life he had vowed to come back and protect. It doesn't matter that the survivors have all returned to the outside, it doesn't matter that the bodies of the dead have already been recovered. Jon promised her he would come to her there in the crypts when the battle was over and so there she would wait for him.

He knows he's dying.

But still yet, he presses on. He made her a promise and he won't die without seeing her face just one more time. And so he forces his legs to keep going, every step like a new knife in his chest. The wound bleeds freely but he does nothing to try and staunch it's flow. There's no saving him, not this time around. Jon knows the battle has been won, but only by the miracle known as Arya Stark. Somehow, someway, she had crept into the godswood and when Theon had taken the blade to his heart, she jumped. And she won.

Jon stumbles his way down into the passage that leads to the crypts, stumbling over the broken rock, his legs giving way just as he steps onto the ground. His movements must have alerted her for Jon hears her voice and feels her arms come around him a moment before he hits the ground. "Jon! Jon, oh no, Jon!" She's crying as she clings to his bloody, beaten body, he can feel her tears as they drip onto his face. He opens his eyes and sees her beautiful face, pale and tear-stained as she leans over him, cradling him close to her chest. She's warm and soft, she's safe... She's safe.

"Sansa..." Her name upon his lips is the sweetest sound and Sansa can feel her heart shattering. "I... Love you..." His words are scarcely a whisper and she puts her hand against his chest wound, as if she might stop the blood flow. A moment later, his hand crosses hers and he squeezes. "Give him... Longclaw." She snaps up, shaking her head, her lips moving with words like _don't say that, you promised me, Jon... _But he raises up that same hand, pressing it against her lips, silencing her. "Give him Longclaw," he says again, knowing the child she carried in her belly would be a son and he only wished he might have gotten to see him grow to be a man. "Promise me."

She can't breathe or even speak and so she only can nod, tears coursing down her cheeks as Jon smiles. It's right then that the brightness in his eyes fades and his hand falls away. She knows he's gone the moment his lids fall closed over those Stark eyes and the sound that escapes her is unlike anything human.

And that is where she's found only a short while later, still yet clinging to his body.

[ x x x ]

"Jon, come here sweetheart. I have something for you."

The boy approaches, his curls wild as always, his solemn Stark eyes gazing up at her. He is a perfect copy of his father, more Stark than she certainly ever looked. If it weren't for his tall, willowy frame, no one would ever think him to be hers. "What is it, mother?" He asks, bobbing on his feet in excitement- he is typically a stoic child, quite like his namesake had been, though with an easygoing smile.

Sansa smiles as she turns to the table beside her, where Longclaw sits in its sheath. Her boy is six years old today and she knew it was high time he begun his new life as the heir to the North, as the future King. "It is a sword, a true sword." She watches as his smile widens, though there is surprise there, too. "But it is not just any sword, my sweet, it once belonged to your father." Little Jon knew his father well, though he had never met him. Sansa had made sure of that. "I promised him the day he died that I would give this to you. It is your nameday gift from him." She picks the sword up and first shows him the hilt, where the white wolf is carved into it, a reminder of the wolf that sleeps beneath her chair that very moment. "It is called Longclaw." Sansa explains as she places the sword into her boy's hands, watching him sag beneath the weight of it. "Someday you will wield it with ease, as your father did." She smiles, thinking of Jon then, her heart heavy and yet so very light. "Use this sword and protect those you love, protect the North from those who might do it harm." He nods, every inch his father, and she leans in to wrap her arms around him, the sword pressed between them.

Sansa breathes in her son's scent and hugs him a little tighter, knowing Jon would have been so very proud of their boy. Of their son. He was the Jon Stark her Jon had always wanted to be, his namesake that would grow into his own name the _Young White Wolf_, the future King in the North. And in that moment, they both could feel his presence, so strong it was as if he were there, smiling upon them.


	39. Chapter 39 - Modern AU

Everything is a blank space. Where memories should have been, was nothing. Where feelings for the people around here should have been, she felt nothing instead. Well... Almost nothing.

She stands in the center of her bedroom, though she only knows it's hers because there's pictures everywhere. Pictures of her and Arya, pictures of her and Lady, pictures of her and the rest of her family. It was overwhelming, looking at all of those photos and knowing they were all dead and gone, though she felt no sorrow over their losses. Sansa supposes she should be happy to have left all that pain and suffering behind her, and yet... She wishes she could feel something, even sadness, even despair. The doctors had told her that the memories might someday come back, that she might someday feel the pain of her losses, but until then she would live in a world of a different kind of suffering.

"Sansa?"

She turns at the sound of the voice, unsurprised to see Jon standing there in her doorway. He is all she has left now... The only other person from her family left living. "Jon," she tests his name upon her lips, already becoming familiar and sweet. For some reason, being near him brought her happiness and she had to wonder why there were no photos of them together within this room. Jon had lived with her and her family growing up, though she couldn't remember that now, and he had come as soon as the hospital had called about the accident. From the moment of his arrival, he had been beside her, his touch always warm and comforting, his voice always gentle and soft. Whenever she was with him, it was almost as if she were going to feel something again.

Jon stares at her for several long moments before he pushes away from the door frame, coming to stand at the center of her room, an arms length from her. He could still yet recall the night two weeks before when his phone had lit up with a number he didn't know, though the zip code had told him it was a Northern number. He had ignored it at first, though a cold dread had settled into the pit of his stomach. When the voicemail notification beeped, his heart had sank. Back then, the doctors had told him Sansa was the only survivor of the crash, though the odds were not good. _A head injury, _they had told him when he called back, _she might not ever wake up again. _But by the time he had arrived at the hospital, she was awake, but she no longer knew who she was or what had happened. _Amneisa, _the doctors explained, _from the injury. _She might never again remember her family or herself, though the doctors encouraged him to try and help jog her memory as best he could.

And that was how he found himself where he was now, living with her in the house he'd grown up in. He couldn't very well leave her alone, especially in her condition. "Are you hungry?" He asks, unsure of what to say or do now. It had been years since he'd last seen her and to think this was how they would be reunited... It didn't seem fair. "I can make you something to eat," he continues with a grin when she nods, her cheeks two blooms of color as she steps closer to him. "I'm not the best cook, but I can try."

Her laugh is sweet though it ceases immediately; her eyes flicker to the photos of her dead family and she wonders if it is wrong of her to laugh, though she can't remember them it seems disrespectful. Jon feels for her- he can't imagine living in a world where you don't even know who you are, let alone anyone else. But he opens up an arm and she slides into it, their bodies meshing perfectly together as they walk through the door and out into the hall. Together, he will help her build a new life, and if he can, he will help her remember the life she once had.


	40. Chapter 40 - I like your laugh

When the feast is over, Jon can't stand to part ways with her yet. And so, drunk as he is, he stumbles along beside her back towards her chamber. She is far more sober than he is and it is her steady hand on his arm that keeps him moving forward, though her lips are smiling as they approach her rooms. "You've had too much to drink," she admonishes as she opens the door, gesturing for him to go inside and she lets the door fall close behind her when she steps through the doorway.

"_All in one go, I believe in you," _Jon slurs, repeating the words she had said to him not long before. She laughs, a sound he thought he might never hear again as long as he lived. It was a sound that send waves of pleasure through him, a sound that he never wanted to let go of. "I like your laugh," he can't stop himself from saying, all of that ale he drank giving him more confidence than usual. For one moment, he won't control the words that he says to her, for one night he will be honest with her. More honest than he's ever been. Her cheeks bloom with color and he reaches for her then, stroking the petal soft skin that burns red. Beneath his touch she freezes but not from fear, not from dislike, but rather surprise. It takes only a moment for her head to incline into his touch, her rosy lips curving with a smile. "I've wanted to hear you laugh again since the moment you came to Castle Black." His memory of her back then has not yet faded, so small and broken, cold and alone. He's not sure it ever would fade.

"You're the one who reminded me how to smile," she whispers, wondering if in the morning he'd even remember this conversation. "You're the one who taught me to laugh again." She feels his fingertips ghosting along her jaw, down to toy with her hair that has slipped over a shoulder. "I want you to keep me laughing, Jon." The admission falls from her lips and she chuckles in spite of herself, suddenly very glad he's drunk and will likely forget such an embarrassing statement.

But then, his arms are around her and he's clutching her close. Sansa gives in to his embrace, her own arms slinging around his waist as she buries her face into the crook of his shoulder. "I'm not so amusing when I'm sober," his words bring another laugh from her lips and she pulls back, staring into his dark eyes, reaching up to gently cup his cheek into her palm. "But I will try."

He would give anything to keep her laughing, drunk or not, he would do anything to see her smile.


	41. Chapter 41 - The Last Dragon and Wolf

_The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. _

And yet, where was her pack? Sansa sighs, rising up from where she sits upon her throne, the direwolves carved into the wood a reminder of who she is. _The Red Wolf, _they call her, _The queen who never bends, the Queen in the North. _She had been crowned some months before after the retaking of Winterfell from the Bolton's. She had schemed and fought and clawed her way back up from the bottom. It had taken nearly everything within her to win back her home, her birthright, but she had done it thanks to the houses that still yet remained loyal to her name and house. With the support of the North behind her, she reclaimed Winterfell in the name of House Stark and they had made her their queen in return.

"Sansa..." She turns at the sound of the voice, her distant brother rolling towards her in his chair. He was the only person who addressed her in such a way still, a reminder of the boy he had once been. For a moment, they were children again, and Sansa was watching him climb the towers, despite being told over and over again not to. For a moment, she could see his wide, childish grin as he waved down at her from the highest peak. But then it was gone and she sighs, her blue eyes finding his Stark gray eyes. "I must speak with you." He goes on and Sansa nods, coming around to grab the handles of his chair, pushing him towards the door she had been heading to.

They go in silence until they reach his chambers. "I've had a vision." Bran says when she's closed the door and settled herself into the chair nearest the fire. Her eyes widen, a brow arching slightly as she waits for an explanation. "Daenerys Targaryen has died in Essos," he says in his monotone voice, speaking a name she had heard little of lately. "And her dragon remains without a rider to tame him. He is burning cities even as we speak." He recalls the rush of fear he had felt standing in the unnamed city, watching as the great beast flew overhead, fire gushing from its mouth.

"There are no Targaryen's to tame him, though," Sansa says, recalling what she had learned a long time ago in King's Landing. "There must be a way to stop the creature. It will come this way, if we don't." It would only be a matter of time before the dragon flew west, towards Westeros, and then there was no telling the bloodshed it would cause.

Bran stares at her for a long moment before he nods. "There is a way, yes," he begins, watching his sister closely as he speaks. "There is still yet a living Targaryen that no one knows of." Her face changes as surprise takes root. "It is Jon Snow, our half brother." _Jon Snow? _That was a name she thought of often, a boy now grown into a man, though one she had not seen in several years now. She knew him to once be Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, but rumors swirled that he was now called the King Beyond the Wall. "Though our half brother he is not." Sansa leans back in her chair, blue eyes widening ever so slightly. "He is our cousin, born of the lawful marriage between Rhaegar Targaryen and our aunt, Lyanna Stark." Understanding is blooming in her eyes, as she realizes the story they had heard about the kidnappinng and rape of their beloved aunt was but that... A cruel story. "You must go to him, you must tell him the truth of his birth and you must sail for Essos. Jon is the only person who can tame the dragon. He is the last living Targaryen."

It takes a moment, but Sansa finally gives a single nod. It was her duty as queen to protect her kingdom from those who would do it harm... And so protect it she would do.

[ x x x ]

"Your grace, riders... At the gate."

Jon looks up from where he sits at his desk, eyeballing the redheaded man that stands before him. "I told you not to call me that," he says with a shake of his head, returning to the scrolls upon the surface of the desk. "Let them in and feed them, warm them. I'm sure they'll be on their way then."

"Your grace- I mean, my lord, ah fuck. Little crow, it is a woman." Tormund says, his words bringing the younger man's attention back to him. "A redheaded woman." Jon draws back, the scrolls suddenly forgotten. He knows very few redheaded women. At once, he's thinking of the half sister he has in the Queen in the North, but surely it cannot be her that has come to him so far out into the North.

"I will go out to meet our guest, then." Jon rules as he rises to his feet, pulling on his fur lined cloak as he went across the room, Tormund following after him. The moment he had stepped out into the morning cold, he could see her there in the courtyard, knelt down in the snow with her arms around Ghost. The wolf was licking her face, nearly knocking her down in his effort to get close to her, his tail wagging with pleasure as her soft laughter carried along the breeze. As he approaches, Sansa lifts her face to him and he's pummeled with dozens of memories; its her, with a crown of flowers woven into her vibrant red hair. It's her, singing softly to Lady as she strokes her coat. It's the flash of her smile, radiant as the sun itself, a sight he thought he would never see again. Jon also recalls how the moment he had been brought back to life by the red priestess, in his ears had rung a laugh... A laugh he now knew to be hers, without a shadow of a doubt. His heart has begun to race as she rises from where she kneels beside Ghost, reaching up to pull back her cloak's hood, revealing to everyone there the red of her hair. Now, all of the castle knew who stood in their courtyard. "Sansa..." Her name is on his lips and she smiles, though tears gather in her eyes as she takes a step towards him.

Then, she's in his arms and he's never felt so at home.

[ x x x ]

"You can't be serious?"

They are tucked into his chambers with only Ghost between them, the wolf having laid himself at her feet. "I am, Jon," she says with sympathy, knowing it must be hard to accept what she's told him this night. They have spent the better part of several hours just talking... About everything. She told him about the death of their father and her abuse in King's Landing by Joffrey and his court. He told her about Ygritte and his need to fit in with whoever would have taken him. She told him about marrying Ramsay Bolton in hopes of securing her home, but was instead taken prisoner yet again and abused in ways she could not find words to explain. Jon told her about his men's betrayal and his death and resurrection. She told him about taking back Winterfell and ensuring Ramsay Bolton never could harm another soul.

And then... She had to tell him why she had come to him after all this time. She told him everything that Bran had told her and more. With her she had brought papers from King's Landing, sent to Bran by a maester in training there named Samwell Tarly, the very same man that had once stood alongside Jon in the Night's Watch. "I am sorry, but it's true." Sansa speaks softly, knowing what it must do to him knowing he is not who he thinks he is. All his life, Jon has wanted nothing more than to be a true Stark, be something beyond Ned Stark's bastard son... Now he's not even that.

From where he sits, Jon can only stare back at her, at this young woman he once called sister. "Targaryen..." He murmurs, leaning forward in his chair, hands coming to cover his face. His heart is in tatters. All he's wanted was to be known as Jon Stark and now he must be called a Targaryen instead? And then he feels it, the soft but warm touch of her hand to his shoulder. Jon looks up then, his eyes finding hers, the smile she offers him is as warm as her touch and even more comforting. "I just wanted to be a Stark," he admits brokenly, ashamed by the tears gathering on his lashes.

"You are to me," she responds as she rises up only to settle onto the floor at his feet. She presses her head against his legs and she feels his hand slide into her hair. They both have felt it, the strange spark between them, though neither will speak on it. Not yet. "Targaryen, Stark, Snow... You will always just be Jon." He feels warmth spreading through him like wildfire and he's thankful for her. Despite the years apart, despite the lack of a childhood connection, Jon feels closer to her than he's ever felt to anyone in all of his life. "And now you must rise to your destiny. You are the only one who can stop Drogon from burning all of Essos and even here. You are the only hope, Jon." He listens to her soft words and knows she is right. He cannot stand aside while a creature such as a dragon roams freely, not when he has the ability to stop it. Innocent people do not deserve to die because he doesn't want to face the truth of his birth.

And so he raises her to look up at him and then pulls her to her feet as he rises to his own. "You will come with me?" He asks to which she nods eagerly, another smile curving on her lips.

"I will go anywhere you go," she says, her heart beating faster than usual, her skin warm where his hand still remains on hers. Relief washes over him and he nods, his smile suddenly appearing as he gives her hand a squeeze. They return to their chairs a few moments later, Ghost still between them, and they talk. They talk about anything and everything they can until darkness falls and they realize neither of them have left the room in hours. Only then does Jon lead her from his own chamber to the one just down the hall he's ensured was prepared for her upon her arrival.

At the door, they pause, as if neither are truly ready to let the other one go. Sansa is amazed by the rush of feelings running through her and has no idea that Jon too is overwhelmed by the emotion he feels having her near. "Until the morning, then." He says, reaching up to run a hand through his wild curls, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Sleep well, Sansa." The sound of her name upon his lips is sweeter than anything, and Sansa smiles before she leans in, brushing a soft kiss against his ragged cheek.

"Good night, Jon." And then she's gone, disappearing behind the heavy wood door, though she would carry with her the feel of his hand in hers and the warmth of his skin when her lips had touched his cheek. Jon returned to his rooms and as he fell into his bed, he could think of little else besides the softness of her lips against his cheek and he could not help but to reach up his hand and touch the spot they had been. As he closes his eyes, it's her image that comes to mind and he realizes he's not felt this way ever before. So soft and warm, full of something strange yet comforting. He is happy, he realizes as he drifts off, happier than he's been since the day he left Winterfell all those years ago.

And it was all because of her.


	42. Chapter 42 - Visible Pregnancy 5

"My lady, my lord," it is Lord Royce at the door, stepping in when Sansa has called for him to enter just moments after knocking. They sit within her solar- once Jon's- with him sitting on the edge of the desk, she behind it in the chair. "A rider… At the gate." He says when he's risen up from his bow, approaching the desk with his ever weary eyes. "He says he is Jaime Lannister." At once, Jon is on his feet and he looks to her with surprise.

"Bring him to the great hall," Sansa rules as she rises to her feet, looking from Jon to Lord Royce, who nods as he turns to do her bidding. "But Lord Royce… Inform no one else." She calls as his hand falls upon the door. The man turns back to look at her and gives a single nod, his loyalty always to her, always. "Jaime Lannister here?" She asks when they are alone once more, her own surprise taking root.

"Let us hear what he has to say," Jon says, offering her his arm to take, drawing her from the room and out into the hall. It is all they can do, after all.

[ x x x ]

Jaime Lannister is surprised by the Stark girl's charm and wit, her presence lighting up a room almost at once. Though her anger is just as quick and she can be fear inspiring even in the bravest of knights. He has lived through a private audience with both her and the surviving Stark children. He has lived through a trial held by Daenerys Targaryen. He's even lived through a moment with Bran Stark, the boy, now grown to a man, he had once pushed out a window.

More than anything else though, Jaime is surprised by Sansa Stark's pregnancy.

A girl unmarried, a girl abused by every man that had ever touched her, he is shocked to see she had conceived a babe outside of wedlock. He's surprised to even think a girl such as herself would ever lay with a man again, though he supposes she deserves happiness even if society thought it improper. And truthfully… Jaime had his suspicions on the father. How could he not, when he himself had looked at his own sister the same way Jon Snow looked at her? How could he not, when he himself witnessed the tender touches between Jon and Sansa when they thought themselves to be alone… Or when he saw them strolling towards the godswood on his third morning in Winterfell, looking quite like a young married couple, more than two half siblings.

It's day four since his arrival and he's making his way down towards the yard where the Northern army drills, his mind focused instead upon the woman soldier that never stood far from Sansa Stark. Jaime had thought of Brienne of Tarth quite often and to see her there in Winterfell had warmed his heart considerably. But as he turned a corner, it was the young Lady of Winterfell he bumped into, nearly knocking her to the ground. "Lady Stark! My apologies! Are you alright?" Jaime asks, concern spreading through him as he put a hand to her arm to steady her. The last thing he wanted to do was bring her harm nor the child she carried within her.

But to his relief, Sansa Stark smiled, nodding her head. "I am fine, all is well. Tell me, Ser Jaime, where you are rushing off to so early in the morning?" She was still growing accustomed to his presence in Winterfell- this man, brother and lover to one of her greatest enemies, had come all the way North to pledge himself to her and their cause. Despite the love he once had for Cersei, he had come North to serve her and House Stark. Though many had advised her against trusting Jaime Lannister, she had accepted him into the ranks of the Northern army, and had entrusted Brienne to keep watch over him. A task she knew her sworn shield enjoyed far more than she would ever let on.

"To the yard, to join the training soliders. I thought I might offer my services in any way I can, though I am not the swordsman I once was," he holds up his golden arm, indicating that it was the reason behind his lack of skill with his sword. Jaime then offers her his other arm to take, which she does, and the Lady of Winterfell falls into step beside him.

"We are lucky to have you, all the same. Your wisdom will be advantageous to our army." Sansa replies, turning her head to smile upon him as they walk down the hall, towards the staircase that would take them down to the main floor. "Brienne holds your skill in high esteem and therefore, I do as well." It was true was she had said the day of his trial- that she trusted Brienne with her very life and thus would trust him with it as well.

"She flatters me, in truth. I would wager to say that she would have beat me in any fight, any day. With or without this arm." He chuckled, thinking back to those first days of meeting Brienne of Tarth, a woman soldier was quite unheard of, let alone one with the skill to outmatch any man. "You are lucky to have her at your side."

"I am." Sansa agrees softly, raising her skirts as they begin to descend the stairs towards the main corridor.

"Without fear of offending you my lady, might I ask you a question?" Sansa glances his way, surprise arching a brow, though she gives a nod a moment later. "I only wonder… As it is most unseemly to conceive a child outside of the marriage bed, I wondered what man could be so tempting to a noble lady such as yourself?"

Sansa blinks, tilting her head before she lets out a soft chuckle. "A brave man," she says without hesitation, rosy lips still yet curving with a smile. "A most noble knight that saved me when I thought all was lost." Her sapphire eyes gleam as she thinks of the man and at once, Jaime knows he's seen this look upon her face before… When he's seen her with Jon Snow. "Ah, there is Jon," as if their conversation as conjured him up, Jon Snow stands just outside the double doors that lead into the great hall, conversing with a man in Stark livery. "If you will excuse me, Ser Jaime," Sansa shoots him a smile before she slips free from his arm, sweeping down the hall towards where Jon stands. Jaime watches as Jon turns towards her, his typically stoic features softening as she comes closer. The man he was speaking to is forgotten as she approaches and Jaime can't help but to chuckle as he steps through the doors and out into the cold, morning air.

It was as he thought then… Jon Snow was indeed the father of Sansa Stark's babe.


	43. Chapter 43 - Brienne Catches

As she did every night, Brienne walked the halls of Winterfell to ensure all was quiet, all was secure. With potential enemies lurking in every shadow, she could never be too careful, nor too worried, when it came to her lady's safety. In truth, Brienne would not put it past Daenerys Targaryen to have Sansa murdered in her bed, nor anyone else she saw as a hindrance to her own cause. And that was the last thing she would allow to happen.

It was as she stepped into one of the furthest back halls that she caught sight of light beneath a closed door. Odd, she thought as she took a few steps closer, thinking it must have been two servants or even a soldier and one of Sansa's few maids, behind the door. The sworn shield knew well what was happening behind that door, she was no idiot. Chuckling, Brienne turned to go when she heard it, the unmistakable sound of her lady's voice. Brienne froze, turning back to the door as if she meant to open it, as if she meant to go inside and stop at once whatever was happening. Fear rushed through her, she could not stop it, and her hand was on the door knob as if she truly meant to push the door open. She worried constantly about Sansa and knowing what she knew she had suffered through, she could not begin to imagine it happening to her again.

And that was what ultimately forced her to open the door. "Lady Sansa!" She cried as she rushed inside, her eyes straining to see by the dying firelight. On the bed, sure enough there was her lady on her back, with her legs hooked around a man's hips, though she gave a surprised cry and pulled back when Brienne charged into the room. More surprising than anything else was the man now kneeling on the bed beside her, his body covered by the old sheet from the bed they sat upon it. Jon Snow was the last man she expected to see Sansa engaging in such an act with... And yet... Was it truly all that surprising? Shock settled in and then embarrassment, as she realized she had not walked in to save her lady from harm nor from danger. Rather, Sansa had been quite enjoying whatever it was Jon had just been doing to her. "Forgive me." Brienne muttered before she backed from the room, closing the door behind her with a quick slam.

She made her way back through the halls, wondering to herself how she had missed such a budding relationship all these weeks and months since she had brought Sansa to Castle Black. Since the two of them had taken back Winterfell. Had Brienne herself not witnessed their longing stares or the way her lady lit up when Jon stepped into a room? Had she not caught them surprisingly close together in Sansa's rooms the day he returned from Dragonstone just days ago? And now that she thought about it, Sansa had never returned to her rooms the night before Jon had left for Dragonstone. Now that she thought about it, there were dozens of moments that pointed at this outcome. Brienne knew she should have been shocked, given the nature of their relationship, and yet... She was only happy for her lady. Sansa had been used and abused by every man that had come into her life until Jon. Half brother or not, he made her happy, and Brienne loved Sansa enough to know such a thing didn't matter if it meant Sansa was happy and safe. If she was happy, Brienne was happy.

So Brienne returned to stand guard outside Sansa's rooms and that would be where she still yet stood when Jon and Sansa came sneaking back a few hours later. She smiled as she ushered the young woman back inside, but turned to face Jon Snow for only a moment, hoping her silent stare told him everything he needed to know. And as if he understood, Jon nodded, and then was gone down the hall, returning to his own rooms for the remainder of the night. Brienne pushed open the door to Sansa's rooms and took note of the glow of her cheeks, of the brightness of her smile, and she knew... She was happy.

And so was she.


	44. Chapter 44 - RomeoJuliet AU

When Jon comes into the throne room, it's too late.

"No..." He whispers as he discards Longclaw, sinking to his knees beside her fallen body. Jon knows she's gone as he lifts her body into his arms, the crimson stain spreading fast beneath her body. She is still warm to the touch, though her lids have fallen closed over those sapphire eyes, her chest no longer rises and falls with her every breath. He's unaware of the tears that streak his cheeks as he cradles her close, uncaring of the blood that stains his hands, his clothes, his soul. He cannot believe he's failed her this way. He cannot believe that he allowed it to come to this.

The sound of footfalls echoes in the room and his attention snaps up, his Stark colored eyes falling upon the woman who still yet holds a blade in her hands. Daenerys Targaryen has taken from him the most important piece of him, the one person he would have gone to the ends of the earth for. The person he would have thrown his life away to save, the person he had been resurrected to protect. _Resurrected... _He thinks as he leans back over Sansa's body, knowing he had lost his reason for living. In Sansa, he had found life, he had found warmth, and he had found comfort. Without her... There was nothing. Nothing at all.

Daenerys stares back at him with those wide, violet eyes of hers, mouth a tight frown as she holds fast to the dagger in her hands. The blade is dripping with blood, blood he knows belongs to Sansa. Though he is most reluctant to do so, Jon pries himself from her and rises up to his feet, bringing Longclaw with him. He is across the room in several strides, knocking from the dragon queen's hands the blade. She is no match for him, of course, in strength or swordsmanship. "Jon, please!" Her voice is a plea that he ignores and a moment later, Jon is plunging the blade into the queen's chest. She sags and only then does he pull the sword free, allowing her to tumble to the ground, bleeding out. He would leave her there to die as she had left Sansa.

When Daenerys has fallen, Jon returns to her side, dropping down so he might pull her close once more. Her murderer is dead, but he feels no comfort. For what comfort could he find when her eyes would never again open? What comfort could he find when she would never again smile upon him, when she would never again so sweetly say his name? The world around him sways and for a moment, he thinks of turning his blade upon himself. It seems the only logical answer, after all, for he knows he cannot live without her. Not for another moment.

And then... Just as he's reaching for Longclaw yet again, he remembers something the red priestess had told him so very long ago. _Those brought back by the Lord of Light... Sometimes they can bestow life upon another. The last kiss of R'hllor, where the flame of life is passed from one to another. _Jon knows the flame of life burns within him and if there was a way to save her, it would be this way. It was true, he would trade his life for hers, but at least then she would live on. With or without him, Jon was just happy knowing she would survive. And so he leaned over her and captured her mouth with his, knowing it was their first and only kiss. He only wished he'd told her the truth when they had the time.

He can feel it, the warmth of what life is, passing from his lips to hers. He can feel her body relax from the grip of death as his begins to stiffen. Jon can only smile when he draws back, catching sight of the first breath her lungs take. And then... As darkness claims him, he thinks of her and her radiant smile, and for the first time in a long time, he's truly and utterly happy.

[ x x x ]

When Sansa wakes, she's confused.

Her hand touches her chest, where surely she had felt the dagger's blow from Daenerys, where she had felt the blood flowing from the wound. Blue eyes sweep across the darkened throne room and there she sees her, silver hair stained crimson, violet eyes wide open in a pale face. Sansa shifts and her hand touches another, the sight of this body bringing a cry from her lips. "Jon!" She cries as she reaches for him, pulling his limp body into her arms, resting him against her legs. "Jon! No!" Her tears run down her cheeks as she leans over him, crying into his chest, desperate to feel the rise and fall of his chest. But there is nothing... Nothing at all.

Cold despair rushes through her as she clutches his body close, her own racked with sobs as she mourns her lost love. What is life without Jon? It doesn't seem fair, for her to live and for him to die beside her. How cruel of fate, to pull them apart in the most permanent of ways. In Jon she had found meaning in her own agonizing existence. In Jon, she had found safety and comfort. In Jon, she had found love. Without him there to keep her steady and light up her darkest nights... What was the point?

She raises her tear-stained face and her gaze settles upon Longclaw, laying there just out of her reach. There is no hesitation as she extends over Jon, fingers closing around the white wolf hilt, drawing the heavy blade into her hands. This felt like the only way. This felt like the only way to be happy again. If she could not be with Jon in life, then in death it would have to be. He would be there on the other side, waiting for her with the rest of those she had lost over the years.

And so she smiles as she navigates the weight of the sword, turning it so the blade faces her own body. She thinks of him as she plunges it into her chest, into the very spot she had felt Daenerys' stab her hours before. The pain is nothing compared to the pain she had felt at losing him, in truth, and it's only a moment later that the blade clatters to the ground beside her. As she slumps over, her hand grasps for his, and she feels nothing but relief as the darkness of death claims her for the second time that day.

In the end, they would be together after all.


	45. Chapter 45 - Modern Accidental Pregnancy

She couldn't believe this had happened.

Sitting there on the bathroom floor, staring at the little white stick on the tub's edge was making her sick. Pivoting, she throws up into the toilet and curses when she sits back to wipe her mouth. _Positive, _she thinks as the little plus sign appears on the miniscule screen, a single image changing everything in an instant.

The phone rings.

Cursing again, Sansa rises up from the floor, steadying herself on the sink before she reaches for her phone sitting there beside her toothbrush. _Jon, _the screen flashes as her finger hovers over the little red phone, thinking to herself now was not the time. And yet... "Hello," she says, bringing the phone to her ear.

"I have to see you," his voice is low, raspy, telling. Sansa feels warmth rush through her, thinking of him... Of his dark, wild curls and smoldering eyes that she swears she'll drown in. "Tonight..." She imagines him on the other end, on the edge of the bed that she found to be far more comfortable than her own. Sansa wants it as much as he does.

"Tonight," she agrees, knowing there was no way she could stay away.

[ x x x ]

The moment he opens the door, his hands are on her. Jon nearly drags her into his apartment, his hands covering every inch of her body. His kiss was wild and she could feel the heat of his lips ghosting across her skin. "Jon," she gasps as his teeth sink into the soft flesh of her exposed neck. "I have to tell you something," she says between kisses, though it's a feat indeed.

"Tell me later," Jon hisses as her hands move across his jeans, over the proof of what he felt for her. He's got her up against the wall now, one hand pressed against the wall to the right of her head, the other one tracing the swell of her breasts beneath the neckline of the black dress she was wearing. He's done nothing but think about her for days, the image of her radiant smile and vibrant red hair imprinted upon his soul. It's gone deeper than he ever imagined it could have. What had begun after a drunken hook up had turned into monthly meet ups. From monthly to almost weekly, they swore to themselves it wasn't anything beyond just that... A hook up. But there was no denying what was beginning to build, even if neither of them could see it just yet.

"I'm pregnant."

She blurts the two words before she can lose her nerve. At once, Jon is pulling back, his gray eyes widening slightly. "What?" He asks, tilting his head as if he has not heard her quite right. "What did you say?"

"I'm pregnant," Sansa repeats as his arms fall away, his shock registering as her words take root inside his brain. "It's yours." Of course it's his, she's only been with him since... Well, she wouldn't think about Ramsay, not anymore. "I... Uh, figured you'd want to know," she's quieter now, kicking at the carpet with her toe, lower lip caught between her teeth. Now that she was here, Sansa wasn't sure what to do. She had given him the information, but what was she expecting him to do with it? They were barely friends, let alone anything else. She wouldn't blame him if he didn't care what she chose to do with the baby, after all they were only hooking up, right?

"Wow," Jon suddenly sputters, his lips twitching with a sudden smile. It's like he's climbing out from his shock and into... Joy? Was he... Happy? "Wow," he says again, this time shaking his head as he settles his gaze upon her. "It's up to you but... I want to be there for you. For them." He goes on, his hand hesitantly reaching for her stomach. She can't help but to smile. A moment later, she's drawn his hand down, her's sliding into place over it.

"You really want to do this?" She asks, truly surprised. How many twenty-something year old guys would so willingly jump into this? An accidental pregnancy from what had to be from only the first or second night. "We barely know each other."

Jon couldn't say why he felt the connection he did to her, but he did. And he knew she felt it, too. "We've got at least nine months to get caught up," he grins and to his surprise, she laughed, a sweet sound that warmed him to the very core. Then she slid into his embrace, an embrace quite different from the ones they had shared up until that very moment. A few moments later, he took her by the hand and drew her towards the couch, where for the first night since their meeting a few weeks before, they sat down and just talked.

They didn't talk about everything- some things were not ready to be divulged, but they talked about their families and their losses. They talked about a few of their dreams and what they could name their child. When she fell asleep against him hours later, Jon carefully carried her into his room, depositing her into the bed they had shared a few times already. He climbed in beside her and reached out, brushing a lock of red hair from her face. It was true, having a baby with an almost stranger was probably not the smartest decision he could make... But Jon could not ignore the pull he felt towards this girl. It was as if fate had led her to him and him to her. He knew, without a doubt, that this was the way he was supposed to be going. Besides, it was as his mother had always said...

It wouldn't be easy, but the right path never was.


	46. Chapter 46 - Ghost Bath

"Your wolf smells."

Jon looks up from where he sits at his desk, chuckling at the sight of Sansa there in his doorway, with Ghost sitting at her feet. "I thought he was _your_ wolf." Jon teases though when he and Ghost meet gazes, the wolf is bounding across the room to ask for pats from his master. "Ah, you do still know who I am." He laughs as he runs his hand down the massive head, down his spine. And sure enough, now that the wolf has come into close proximity, he can smell the wolf's sour stench. "Ugh, you're right," Jon rises up from the chair as Sansa steps into the center of the room, Ghost moving back to circle where she stands. Jon can't help but to appreciate the sight of them together- it's been nearly two years since she had shown up at his door in Castle Black and ever since that day, Ghost had become nearly glued to her side. The white wolf that had once answered to no one but him was her shadow, her protector, her guardian. "It is quite warm today, shall we bathe him?"

Sansa grins, reaching down to touch the wolf's head as he settles down next to her. "I think it is a must," she replies with a laugh. Together, she and Jon, with Ghost racing ahead of them, they walk through the corridors down to the double doors out into Winterfell's courtyard.

Spring had finally come, only a few months before. The long winter had lasted all these years, the curse perhaps broken by the death of the Night King. Though, Sansa supposes she would always live her life by her father's old words of _Winter is coming. _Who knew when it would come again. But, for now, she was happy to see the warm sun, to shed her fur layers and step into the yard in just a gown of gray and black. Upstairs in her room, she had gowns of pale blues and greens in the making, the first gowns of color she would wear since her days in King's Landing so very long ago. She was not to be a queen of ice and snow, but a queen of spring returned.

They gather the supplies the need and make their way down the river, finally warmed enough to put their hands in and use to wash the wolf. There was no tub large enough for Ghost's size, after all. "Here, Ghost!" Jon calls out to the beast, who has run off through the trees, chasing after leaves flying in the wind. Sansa laughs as the wolf rushes by them, dancing around where they stand, eager for love and pets from the two humans he loved so very much. "In with you, then," Jon says as he guides the wolf towards the river water, thinking to himself how much easier this would have been with a collar and leash. The wolf is prancing happily, going anywhere but the river where his master wanted. "Ghost!"

But then it's Sansa who's gentle touch guides the wolf into the water, her soft voice encouraging the energetic wolf to sit down in the shallow edge of the river. "Good boy!" She says cheerfully, her smile as bright as the spring sun that shines down upon them. "Here you go," she continues softly talking to the wolf as she dumps a pitcher of water over his head and she laughs when the wolf immediately shakes, spraying her and Jon both with droplets of water. Beside her, Jon can only watch in amazement as she keeps the wolf sitting there long enough so she can pour soap onto the wolf's back, reaching out to begin rubbing it into his white fur.

Before long, the dingy fur has become stark white again, and the wolf's once sour smell has faded to something sweet, much like the soap used to clean him. "There you go," Jon says, his every intention to praise the wolf for being so well behaved. But then, the wolf grows excited over the sight of perhaps a bird or something else, and he dashes off between them, his huge size knocking Jon off balance. Before he can catch himself, Jon stumbles and he lands in the river where Ghost had just sat.

It only takes a moment for Sansa to begin laughing at his expense, doubled over in her amusement of his fall. "You might laugh now..." Jon mumbles as he sits up, soaked through to his very skin, his brown eyes flashing mischievously in the sunlight. That's when he takes hold on Sansa's hand and gives a tug. She falls into the river against him, his body shielding her from the hard ground beneath the water. She sputters and pulls back, her gown soaked, even her hair dripping wet as she rises up from the water, eyeing him with a look torn between annoyance and mirth.

She opens her mouth to speak but Jon's laugh silences her; she turns, following his line of sight to just behind her. At once she heaves a sigh, shaking her head as Ghost comes through the clearing, his once clean fur now dirtied with mud from the godswood. "So much for that," Sansa chuckles, opening her arms a moment later to the wolf who rushes into her embrace, knocking her back into the river as he licks excitedly at her face. She supposes that even if things went wrong, she wouldn't have changed this day for anything.


	47. Chapter 47 - Jaime Discovers

As he climbs the crumbling steps up to the Broken Tower, Jaime feels a strong sense of _I shouldn't be here. _He can't say what brings the thought to his mind, though he feels it's to be blamed on what had happened the last time he had come to this very tower. That day felt like lifetimes ago, in truth.

But as he approaches the door that leads into the single room at the top of the tower, Jaime slows his walk, hearing what certainly sounds like voices from within. He pauses before leaning in and pressing his ear to the wood, listening intently to the sounds from inside the room. He hears it then- the unmistakable sound of a woman who was surely writhing on a bed in pleasure. Jaime can't help but to chuckle, knowing this had been the only place he and Cersei could have come in all of Winterfell for a moment of privacy. Whoever was in that room wanted the same sort of privacy, which told Jaime it was not going to be just servants fooling around inside.

That curiousity is what got him to carefully twist the doorknob, quietly pushing open the heavy wooden door just an inch or so, enough that he could peer through the crack and see who was inside. The room was lit only by a few candles and though he had to squint to see even a little, the red hair he caught sight of was telling. Jaime's eyes lingered for only a moment on the sight of the Stark girl on top of her companion, her head thrown back as a name passed her lips in the most lustful of ways. "Jon..." The moment he heard that name, Jaime closed the door without a sound, taking a single step back away from the door.

He can't help but to laugh as he turns, retreating back down the stone steps he'd walked up only minutes before. Now he understands why those two had sought such privacy, to think that honorable boy Jon Snow was sleeping with his half sister. To think proud Ned Stark's daughter was sleeping with her father's bastard. _What an interesting discovery_, he thinks to himself as he steps back out into the cold winter snow. He had to be the only person in all of Winterfell that knew what was going on between those two and they were lucky it was someone who could be sympathetic towards their relationship that had found them.

Jaime has walked this very same path and he knew he would help them along, should they need it. He had pledged himself to Sansa Stark only the day before, after all. He would help her in anyway possible. Even one such as this.


	48. Chapter 48 - Be Mine

There was no waiting.

He pulls at her clothes as quickly as she pulls at his. Her cloak is tossed onto the ground and his follows after as Jon pushes her towards the table against the western wall. Jon feels her hands as they tear away his jerkin and shirt, her hands roaming the expanse of his chest until he's moving her again. She's then groaning into his mouth as his hands clutch at her hips, her kiss strong and true while her arms drape across his shoulders. "Be mine..." He whispers, breaking the kiss so his lips can caress the soft skin of her neck, teeth sinking into her pale white flesh, uncaring of the bruises he leaves behind.

"I already am," her whisper is hot against his skin as her mouth finds his again, her hands tangling themselves into his hair. Jon can take it no more and he hefts her up against the table, pressing her to it as his other hand pushes her heavy skirts up around her hips. He tugs at her smallclothes until they've fallen to the floor at his feet and Jon puts his hand onto the warm skin of her inner thigh, squeezing it beneath his fingers, relishing in how soft and warm it was against his own. Using his other hand, he unlaces his breeches and he tugs them down until they are at his knees and Sansa laughs softly as he tugs her closer to him. "There's a bed here, you know..." She whispers as he leans over her, brushing his mouth with hers, the heat of him pulsating against her skin, sending tremors rushing through her entire body.

"We'll try there next," he whispers back, trailing kisses from her mouth down to her collarbone, down to the swell of her breasts at the neck of her gown. Sansa could feel him between her legs and the warmth of arousal was swirling in her stomach. Right then, there was no waiting.

Jon was inside of her before she could say a word back and she could only throw her head back as he dove deep, his hands clinging to her hips to keep her tight against him. "Jon!" Her lips can do nothing more than gasp his name, breath catching in her throat as he met the arching of her back with a particularly solid thrust. Sansa was sinking, deeper and deeper into the ecstasy of the moment, the feeling with him unlike anything she had ever felt in all her life. She raises her legs, anchoring them around his hips, drawing them even closer, though she had not thought that even possible.

"I've missed you," he breathes as he leans over her, yet again capturing her mouth with his, knowing he would never grow tired of feeling the touch of her lips against his. He's been away all these weeks, only to return that very day with an army and dragons and a foreign queen, all so he might protect this very woman from what was to come. She whimpers beneath him, writhing as he slides nearly free from her, smirking when he feels her hand enclose around the length of him, guiding him back into place. "Say you have missed me, too," he draws back yet again, if only to hear her impatient little mewl, before he resumes the quick thrusting he'd been providing her with only moments before.

It was unfair, Sansa thought, knowing the control Jon had over her in a moment like this. Just the touch of his hands had her melting and she couldn't understand how he knew just what touches were the ones she liked best. "You know I did," she gasps when she can find her voice again and Jon can feel her fingernails as they claw their way down his back. They both can remember the last time they saw one another, the night before he had left for Dragonstone, a night spent in his rooms rather than hers, as they were in now. Jon had come to her that night to say a private goodbye but when she had opened the door, the only thing he could do was kiss her. That night's memory had gotten Jon through the long nights in Dragonstone, alone, a prisoner. And Sansa too had often thought of that night when she needed strength to keep going.

He's slowing his pace and Jon feels her body tighten around him a moment before he spills his seed, the sensation rocking every inch of his body. Panting, barely able to catch his breath, Jon laughs as he pulls free from her. "You're quite the sight, my love," he teases as he offers her a hand, tugging her into a sitting position, her skirts hanging haphazardly around her waist as she makes a face at him. Jon pulls his breeches up as she slides from the table, her cheeks pink and her eyes glossy as she leans into him. He wraps one arm around her, the other sliding into her tousled red hair, the strands slipping through his fingers like silk. "I never want to part from you again," he murmurs against that red hair as he breathes in her ever familiar scent.

"Then don't," she whispers with a flash of a smile, tilting her head just enough to expose her throat to him. She feels his lips press a kiss to where her pulse beats and it's more intimate than anything else could have ever been. He's drawing her across the room then, towards her bed, and he's then wordlessly unlacing her from her black gown. When they're both stripped from their clothes, he tugs her down into the bed she had offered to them only a short while ago. "We could stay right here... Forever." Her words ghost across his skin and Jon can feel her teeth as they nip at his lower lip.

Jon smiles before he kisses her, slow and deep, a kiss quite unlike all of the others they had shared this night. When he draws back it's to tilt his forehead against hers. "Forever sounds perfect."


	49. Chapter 49 - I Should Have Listened

_The godswood, tonight. _

_Please. _

The snow crunches beneath her every step as her feet carry her the familiar path towards the godswood. Even now, she feels the familiar flutter of memory as she takes this way, walking the same path she had once walked to marry Ramsay Bolton. But tonight, with the moon high above her and the snow falling, she feels no fear from the memory- but rather strength. The strength that has kept her going all these long weeks without him, in the strength that has kept her sane in these days since his return. "Jon..." His name is a breath on her lips as she approaches him there beneath the heart tree, his back to her for only a single moment. When he turns to face her, he's pale and drawn, as if he's been dealt an emotional blow. But when he takes in the sight of her, his lips twitch with the quickest of smiles.

"You came," he finally says and she smiles, looking down for a beat of silence before she looks back up at him, his eyes finding hers. "I wasn't so sure..."

"Of course I came. I always will, Jon." She speaks quietly, taking another step forward, the gap between them minimal. "We're family."

_We're family. _

Jon feels his heart turnover, the tightness in his gut unfurling at her two simple words. Relief rushes through him and it's all he can do to keep himself from pulling her into his arms. He doesn't deserve her smile, no matter how small. He doesn't deserve her at all. "There's something I wanted to tell you..." He says instead. "It's about... My mother." Sansa blinks, peering back at him in the darkness of the night. "My mother was Lyanna Stark... My father was Rhaegar Targaryen." He watches as her face changes, surprise taking root, though then something like pity takes over.

"How do you know?" She asks, her voice stiffer than she meant it to sound. This changes things, she realizes, changes so many things she doesn't know which one too think about first. "If that's true... Jon... You're..." _You're the true heir, _she thinks in disbelief, giving her head a shake as if this will make it make sense.

"Bran," Jon interrupts, taking a step closer to her, his hand reaching out to touch her arm. "Bran and Sam told me last night." He wants to tell her more, the truth is there on the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill over. "There's more..."

This was it then, this was going to be where he told her the truth about Daenerys. Now Sansa was beginning to piece it all together- the heartache within him, it stemmed from the love he clearly had for the dragon queen. And now that same queen was his own aunt. "You don't have to explain it to me," she says quietly. She can't bear to hear him tell her that he loves Daenerys.

"Sansa, please... Listen to me." His hand keeps her there when she turns away, as if to go. "About today... About the meeting." She remembers the way the dragon queen had spoken out of turn, about how she implied her dragons would eat as they pleased with no regard for the North or it's people. She also remembers how Jon did not speak up against such a thing, how he gave almost no reasoning behind why he gave away the home they had taken back from their enemies. And she also remembers how she had asked him only last night if it had been because he loved her, that queen of his. _It's not what you think, _he had said, but their conversation was cut short when a knock had interrupted them. Now he's going to tell her what he had not told her that night. "I should have listened to you." He speaks suddenly, bringing her back from the depth of her thoughts. "You told me to be smarter than Robb or... Or father," no matter what, Ned Stark would always be his father. "I didn't listen to you and now... I'm in so deep I'm not sure I can come back up."

For several moments, she only stares back at him, her sapphire eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "Tell me, Jon." He heaves a sigh, closing his eyes for a single second. When he opens them, it's to nod, knowing here in the moonlight filled godswood, he could finally tell someone the truth. Finally, there would be someone else in his court. And so he opens his mouth and begins to talk. He tells her about arriving in Dragonstone and meeting Daenerys, he tells her about the moment he realized getting her help wouldn't be as easy as he once thought. He tells her about the wight hunt and losing Viserion. He tells her about finally giving in to what Daenerys had wanted, the final thing that would seal their alliance- he slept with her. Jon talks until he's certain he can talk no more. "I swore I would do whatever it took to protect the North... And so I did." He finishes softly, bowing his head as he suddenly felt unworthy to even gaze into her beautiful eyes. There was more, one last thing he wants to say to her, but this moment is not the right one.

"You should have told me," is all she says at first, shaking her head. "You had me thinking the worst of you." Her face tells him just how badly she felt for thinking whatever it was she had thought of him. Jon could not blame her for such feelings. "I would have been nicer to her if I had known this all," she admits, folding her arms over her chest as she looks away, cheeks burning in the moonlight. Jon feels a smile turning up his lips, realizing then that perhaps Sansa felt quite similar to how he felt for her.

"You are a bad liar, Sansa, you'd have given me away immediately." Jon teases and she laughs; for a moment, all is well. No war looms ahead of them, no fear of the days to come. For a moment, all is right.

"Why tell me now, then? It is not over." Sansa questions a moment later; she would still yet have to tolerate the dragon queen's presence and it was as Jon had said, she was a terrible liar.

His shoulders lift in a shrug. "I knew you to be angry with me... I couldn't live with that any longer." Jon admits, his words bringing color to her cheeks that didn't have to do with the cold. "Besides, I trust you to keep my secret safe. And me too." That was true, giving away this secret of his could very well be the death of him if the wrong person found out about any piece of it. He could trust her to keep his secret safe. "We should go back," he says then, gesturing to the snow that swirled around them, falling harder than it had been only minutes ago. As she falls into step beside him, Jon can't stop himself from slipping his arm around her shoulders, still yet holding onto one final secret.

They separate at her chamber door, Sansa turning back to him before ducking through it to press a kiss to his cheek. Her smile is quick and warms him all the way through. When she's gone and the door has closed, he touches his fingertips the spot she had kissed, a chuckle on his lips. For a moment, he contemplates knocking, not ready to separate from her. But then to his surprise and ultimate delight, she opens the door again. "Don't go yet," is all she says and when Jon nods, she stands back so he can come into the room.

By the time the door closes, his lips are on hers.


	50. Chapter 50 - Hostage

Jon's feet feel heavy as he walks the path towards the queen's rooms.

He can't say what it is, but his usual sense of worry and dread has increased tenfold since Missandei knocked on his door several hours earlier. He's been locked into war meetings most of the day and had been hoping to turn in for the night once supper was served, taking just only a few extra hours of sleep to himself before waking tomorrow and knowing there was certainly more war to come.

The battle against the Night King had been won, of course, but now another battle was beginning to brew. Going to fight in King's Landing was the last thing he wanted to do, but he knew there was no escaping his duty. His entire alliance with Daenerys Targaryen rested on his promise to aide her in her fight for the Iron Throne. It mattered not that he himself was the true heir, it wasn't what he wanted. Truly he cared not who sat upon that throne, so long as it didn't have to be him.

But what else Daenerys asked of him... To stand at her side when it was all over... How could he, knowing what he knew now? It had been one thing to fake it through with her when they had been strangers, but now he knew she to be his aunt... His own father's sister. There was no way he could bring himself to be with her again, even if he had wanted it. But Daenerys seemed to care very little about the truth of his parentage and wanted him at her side still yet. _Break the wheel with me, _had that not been what she asked him? He wanted nothing to do with that. He wanted to stay there, in the North, with his family... With _her. _

The thought of Sansa overwhelms him, as it always does. The thought of her soft, pale skin... Of her vibrant red hair... Of her eyes that gleamed like the rarest of sapphires. All he wanted was to remain at her side there in Winterfell. But so much more was being asked of him and Jon wasn't so sure he could take much more.

Stopping outside the queen's rooms, he raised his hand to knock, and at once Missandei appears, beckoning him to enter. Inside, Daenerys stands with her back to him, facing the fire that burns brightly in her hearth. "Have you given any thought to what I asked you?" She asks, turning around to face him only when she's spoke. Her violet eyes shine in the firelight, silver hair twisted back from her porcelain features.

"Yes... And it is as I told you... I cannot." He speaks quietly, as if his tone will soften the blow of his rejection. "I will help you reclaim the throne as I said I would... But when it's over, I will remain here with my family. I will stay in the North."

For a moment, Daenerys does not speak, in fact she doesn't even move. But then a nostril flares and Jon knows her anger is mounting. "I thought you might say such a thing," is all she finally says, as if her words explain it all. She barks something in Valyrian and Grey Worm backs from the main room into the back room, a small office space Jon had never seen Daenerys make use of. But then, the door swings back open and it's like a punch to his gut, seeing Sansa being walked back into the room. "It seems your sister has been plotting against me," Daenerys continues, stepping around the desk to stand beside Grey Worm and Sansa. "You know the punishment for traitors."

"Dany, please," Jon can feel his heart racing at ten times its normal speed. Flicking his gaze to Sansa, their eyes meet, and his hand tightens to a fist at his side. Her mouth curves with the smallest of smiles and Jon can feel the surge of feeling rush through his entire being at the sight of it.

"Of course... There is a way to spare your sister a traitor's death." Daenerys speaks smoothly, as if they speak of something entirely mundane. Her violet eyes sweep him up and down before her lips give a tight smirk, as if she knows she has the upper hand on him. She knows his only weakness and has exploited it well. This so called treason Sansa has been pinned with is surely fabricated or exagerated and it explains why Tyrion is not there within the room. Her Hand never would have allowed this to occur, no matter how loyal he was to the dragon queen. "Do as I have commanded you, as your rightful queen."

Jon again looks to Sansa and she gives a tiny shake of her head, staring at him as if to say _don't do it, you idiot. _Now it's his turn to offer her a small smile before he turns back to face Daenerys, the answer already on his lips. "I am yours to command, my queen." If this was to protect Sansa, then he would do anything at all. He would walk onto any battlefield, face any enemy, if it meant protecting her. His only regret would be that this choice would take him from her, to a place where he could not selfishly snatch glances at her at any chance, nor reach for her hand whenever he wished.

If it was for Sansa, he would do anything it took to protect her from harm. Even aligning himself with Daenerys through marriage or treaty or death. Whatever it took... He would do it.


	51. Chapter 51 - Tormund to the Rescue

He's not left his room in what feels like days. 

He sees little purpose in it now and though he leaves to see to his various duties, most hours you can find Jon Snow locked into the chambers he once resided in so many moons ago. He is as frozen as the North, his heart chilled, his soul like ice. All bit of warmth has left him, left behind at Winterfell, all by his own choosing. He spends most of his spare time drinking until he can feel no more pain, though in a way he only trades one type of pain for another.

Jon supposes he could have fought the ruling- unjust as so many seemed to call it- but here... Far out North, near the wall at Castle Black, Jon is serving a punishment not dealt by a King nor a Queen. It is a punishment given to him by his own self, penance for the lies he's been telling all this time. He had lied to Daenerys, gaining her alliance in any way possible- and though he did it for the family he loved, he knew it to be wrong. But more than that, he lied to his family, he lied to _her. _

Sansa tried to tell him, she told him he had to be smarter than Robb or _father- _Ned Stark, the man he called father, but now knew was his uncle. Instead, he'd been far more stupid than either one of them. He had made mistakes that nearly cost him everything he had ever loved. In the end, he killed Daenerys to make right what he had done by bringing her to King's Landing. And to protect Sansa, who surely would have fallen beneath Drogon's fire the moment crown sat upon thr Targaryen queen's head.

After all of that, he doesn't deserve to be near her- he had nearly failed in his vow to protect her and had kept the truth to himself, not trusting that she could help him in his plans to protect the North from the Night King and even from Daenerys herself. Jon knows now he should have relied on her, on all of them. His punishment for that was to be here, at the wall, away from those he loved most.

And so it was from there that he heard of Arya's ship setting sail for the world unknown, rumor that Gendry Baratheon sailed away from Storm's End with her, leaving Ser Davos to keep the castle. It was from there that he heard of Bran's first declaration- that the rebuilding of King's Landing's city would be started and finished before the castle's. And it was from there that he heard of the crowning of a new Queen in the North. It was as he had told her that last day, that last moment... _Ned Stark's daughter will speak for them... She's the best they could ask for. _She consumes him; the thought of her sweet smelling hair and petal soft skin... He dreams of her, does nothing but think of her... Does nothing but wish to be beside her again. Jon never knew being apart from her this way could cause such pain.

"Little crow?"

Jon looks up, torn from the thought of her, and finds himself staring back at Tormund. The man eyes him with a sigh, his footsteps heavy as he crosses the room to stand before Jon where he sits beside the fire. "You look like shit," Tormund grunts, his face not betraying his true concern for the young man. Jon scoffs though, the touch of a smile tugging at his lips. "The men said you didn't come down this morning." He goes on, taking note of the several bottles of ale laying around the room, which is in stages of disarray. Tormund also can see the unopened letters from the Northern queen littering his desk and as he swivels his head back to face Jon, he knows he cannot help him. Not anymore. "Get yourself together, little crow," Tormund says softly before he reaches for Jon's head, touching his curls for a single moment. And then he's gone from the room, leaving Jon brimming with emotion as he fights to control the storm that rages inside of him.

It's as Tormund stalks down the hall that he makes up his mind what he's going to do. His eyes fall on a young Night's Watch crow and beckons him closer. "Ready a horse, now. There's someone I need to go see."

[ x x x ]

"Your grace, a rider at the gate... He'd like to speak to you."

Sansa looks up from where she sits at her desk; she's tucked into her solar for the afternoon under the pretense of working, but she's been sitting there for what very well could have been hours now, doing nothing but moping. She knows it's high time she buck up and let it go... But no matter how hard she tries, there's no letting Jon go. She keeps herself busy most days, throwing herself into every and any matter she can, ignoring the Lord's when they tell her it's something small that they can handle. Every other thought she's forced to think of keeps the ones of him at bay.

But at night...

At night, all she can do is think about him.

She sighs, pushing back from the desk to rise up to her feet. "Who is it?" There was no one that she was expecting, though she thought perhaps it was a message from Bran- it was nearing two weeks since her last letter was sent to him and usually he'd replied back by now.

"It's..." Lord Royce trails off as she rises to her feet, sounding hesitant. But one quick glance from his queen has him speaking on. "It's that Tormund fellow, the one... With Jon." At his words, Sansa sinks back into her chair. For a monent, Lord Royce worries that this has upset his queen, but it only takes another second for her to take a deep breath and compose herself; all surprise, all concern fades from her features and she adopts her queenly mask, one he knows she wears far too often. One he wishes she never had to wear again. He only wanted happiness for this young queen of his and it felt like she might never truly have what she wanted. "I can send him away.." He begins, but she shakes her head.

"No. Send him in."

And so he does as he's bid.

It only takes a few minutes for the door to open and in comes the large, redheaded man. Tormund crosses into the room and at once offers this queen a bow. "Tormund," she greets with that voice of hers, raising her sapphire colored eyes to meet his with a pleasant sort of smile. "I do hope you bring with you a good reason why Jon continues to ignore every letter I've sent him since my return to Winterfell nearly a year ago." The words leave her lips before she can stop them and at once she's crimson. Tormund grins to ease the tension, happy to see the mask she wore slipping away. It seemed like Jon Snow was not the only one suffering without the other.

"I wish it were so, your grace," he replies in his rough sort of way, reaching up to rub the back of his head. He wonders if she knows how her face falls when he speaks. "Little crow needs you, your grace." Tormund says without hesitation, knowing there was little need for any sense of propriety in a moment such as this. "He needs someone to save him from himself. That can only be you." Her blue eyes widen as her mouth forms a tight little frown, shifting in her chair for only a moment before she gives a single nod.

"Take me to him."

[ x x x ]

Jon is so lost in his mind that he doesn't notice when Ghost raises his head up from the floor, ear twitching with the sound of familiar footfalls outside the door. It isn't until the wolf lets out an excited sort of bark that Jon raises his eyes from the fire, an untouched goblet of ale in his hands. "Little crow," Tormund singsongs as he throws open the door. "I've found you a woman. Nothing cheers a man up like a pretty girl." Jon is opening his mouth to protest when Ghost leaps to his feet, nearly running across the room to reach the young woman that's stepped into his room.

The goblet of ale falls from his hands, crashing noisly to the ground, spilling the amber colored liquid across the rushes. "Sansa..." Her name is on his lips as she laughs, gently pushing Ghost down from her shoulders, though the wolf dances around her feet in his excitement. Jon has risen to his feet now, stepping around the spilled ale, coming to stand at the center of the room. Her eyes have locked onto his and neither notice when Tormund softly calls to Ghost, beckoning the wolf from the room and shutting the door quietly behind him. "Sansa..." He speaks her name again, as if testing it, as if to be certain she would not just simply vanish from his very sight.

But then she smiles and he feels something so strong, so true, rush through him that it nearly brings him to his knees. And then there she is, arms winding around him, anchoring him back to a world of warmth. "I'm here," is all she whispers as she holds on fast, burying her face into his neck as Jon wraps his arms around her waist. "I'm never leaving you again."

That's the only thing he's ever wanted to hear.


	52. Chapter 52 - You look good in it

Neither of them could really say what led them to this exact moment... Well, Jon actually could. He's reminded again and again of the night of the Halloween party some weeks ago now. That had been the first night he drew her into his bed though it certainly had not been the last. Alcohol had certainly played a part that night but many of the more recent nights had involved less alcohol and more feelings.

The door to his room swings open and she's standing there in just his t-shirt and her pale pink underwear, her red hair falling down her back in soft waves. His fingers twitch as a sense of longing rushes through him; all he wants is to touch her, to hold her. She stands somewhat bashfully beside his bed, as if she's uncertain of what to do or what to say. This "relationship" of theirs was new to both of them, something neither of them had expected, and it was true that neither knew what to do now that it went beyond something physical. And so he goes with the first thing that comes to his mind- the truth. "It looks good on you," his words spark a crimson glow to her cheeks that he finds incredibly adorable and arousing at the same time. How was it that she held such power over him?

Her smile is quick and it softens her features as she glances down at herself and then back up to him. Jon wishes to see her smile more and he silently vows to make sure he does. It's with a grin of his own that he reaches for her hand, tugging her down onto his bed so he can roll her onto her back, pinning her down with a playful kiss. Suddenly, he can't even think about keeping his hands to himself. One trails the length of her frame and further still, idly tracing swirls against the soft skin of her thigh. "But I think it would look better on the floor," his voice is a whisper in her ear, breath warm against her neck as he presses a kiss against the hollow of her throat, her pulse lightly beating against his lips. Her laugh is soft and slow as she helps him tug the t-shirt over her head, tossing it carelessly to the side as his mouth captures hers again.

Whatever this was with her, he wouldn't give it up for the world.


	53. Chapter 53 - Bringing Jon Home

Sansa was five when she brought home a boy from the river.

Ned Stark supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, considering the amount of other things and animals she'd bring home with her from down at the rivers edge, but a boy was certainly the last thing he expected. She had come bouncing through the courtyard with the boy's hand in hers, truly dragging him along with her towards the godswood where she had known her father to be. Those outside that afternoon had laughed, watching the young girl as she went, thinking she had made friend's with a Wintertown boy, not thinking for the slightest who he truly could be.

"Father!" Sansa's singsong voice cried out as soon as she stepped foot beneath the weirwood trees; there he was, sitting beneath the heart tree, eyes closed in thought. But Ned opened his eyes at the sound of his daughter's voice and smiled as she came towards him, dragging with her a boy of about Robb's age. She's breathless when she approached him, red hair wild from running, her clear blue eyes wide in her features. Though she was only five, Ned knew she would grow into a great beauty someday. "Father! Look, I have brought a friend home to live with us." She smiles widely, glancing from her father to the boy that now hovers behind her, looking quite uncomfortable. "Please say he may stay with us!"

He grins down at his daughter's upturned face and gently nudges her to the side, encouraging the young boy to step forward, closer to him. The boy looked as if he'd rather be anywhere else. "What's your name, son?" Ned asks as he takes in the sight of him; wild dark curls and deep set brown eyes that trusted no one. His clothing isn't rags and tatters, but old and in need of a wash and mend. His face is smudged with dirt and probably a bruise or two.

"Jon, ser. Jon Snow." The boy replies in a defensive sort of tone, eyes narrowing, daring Ned to make a remark about his bastard status. Instead, he's surprised when the man smiles upon him and reached out to touch the top of his head quite tenderly, as he thought a father might do to his son.

"Jon Snow, you say? Well Jon Snow, how does a hot meal sound?" Ned asks and he feels a warmth in his heart when the boy's face lights up. "And a warm bed to sleep in?" At that, the boy's eyes well up and Ned knows now that this boy has no home to return to. It's not just a local boy Sansa has brought home, it's a homeless orphan. "Go on Sansa, take him home, I'll follow you." Ned smiles when Sansa gives an excited cry and immediately takes the boy by the hand again, pulling him back towards Winterfell. Ned stands up and watches them go, a strange feeling settled into the pit of his stomach... A feeling that told him he needed to keep Jon and protect him as he would any of his own children. And seeing Sansa and him together, hand in hand, gave him another strange, but fluttering feeling. It was almost like looking into the future.

But Ned shakes away the feelings and begins to walk, trailing after the kids back to home.


	54. Chapter 54 - Orphan Jon 2

When Sansa hears his first shout, she leaps from her own bed and dashes past Agatha who calls out after her, though Sansa pretends she cannot hear her. In just her white nightgown, she runs down the hall to where the yelling is coming from. Jon's rooms are full of commotion; the boy stands at the center of it all, his eyes as wild as his dark curls. A cluster of maids stand around him, one trying her best to soothe the panting boy, though he looks like in any moment he'll snap. At his either side, his hands are tightly curled into fists.

She nudges into the circle and at once a maid has her hand on Sansa's arm. "Little lady you must stay back, the boy is wild!" In truth, none of the women can understand why their Lord Stark had taken in the orphan boy on the whims of this little girl who had found him beside the river only the day before. Sansa glances at the woman's arm and sees the red, angry mark of a bite- no wonder they call him wild.

"He's my friend," she says with a shrug before she turns back to face Jon, who still yet stands there in the center of the room, looking as agitated as he had when she came in. "It's only a bath, Jon," she smiles for him as she takes a single step closer to him. Jon takes a step back, eyes narrowing, but he cannot help but to relax when he sees her smile. He doesn't quite understand it yet, but somehow he knows she's come to save him yet again. "It's alright, I'll stay with you if you'd like," she soothes as she comes closer still, reaching out to gently touch his fist. At her touch, warmth spreads through him and Jon feels... Safe. He's reminded of how he had felt the day before when he had first saw her beside the river, the sunlight glinting off her fire red hair. He's never seen hair that color before but he likes it.

"Please, stay," he whispers and Sansa is all smiles again. She stands on the other side of the sheet while he allows a maid to help him from his clothes and into the tub. The moment she hears the splash, Sansa rushes around to the edge of the tub, laughing at his surprised face. "It's warm!"

"Of course it's warm, silly!" Sansa giggles as she sinks down to her hunches, red hair tumbling over her shoulders. He may only be seven, but Jon realizes then that this girl has never known anything but warm baths and beds. He wishes he could be jealous or even angry, but staring into her bright blue eyes he feels only safety and he feels happy, too. One of the maids comes over then and sets to work washing his hair, while Sansa sits there beside the tub just talking; she tells him about her newest "brother" a boy named Theon who had come from the Iron Islands only a few weeks before. She tells him about Arya tumbling down the stairs two mornings ago chasing after Robb.

By the time she finishes her story about Arya, she's being ushered around the sheet again, this time so Jon can be pulled from the tub and dried off. New clothes borrowed from Robb's closet were brought in and he's dressed- though Jon is shorter than Robb, they fit the boy well. When the sheet is pulled down, it reveals Jon to her for the first time and a smile spreads across her lips as he looks shyly down at his feet. "You look nice!" Sansa sings and at once the boy's face lifts and lights up with a wide smile of his own. Sansa decided she wanted to do more things to make him smile. "Come! Let us go down for breakfast!" She takes him by the hand and draws him towards the door.

"Not so fast," it's Ned Stark standing there in the doorway with a smile, once again feeling that peculiar feeling as if he knew he were seeing a future of some kind when he catches sight of their interlocked hands. "You my little lady must go get dressed!" He leans in and tugs Sansa close, his giggling little girl throwing her arms around his neck for a long embrace. "Go on now, I'll take Jon down to the great hall." Sansa sighs as she draws back, but she's still smiling, knowing quite well there would be no place for a girl in her night clothes at breakfast.

"Don't be scared, I'll be with you soon." Sansa says when she turns back to Jon, once again reaching out to touch his hand. Jon smiles and he nods, her smile offering him enough bravery to fall into step beside Lord Stark or even the scariest of monsters. Somehow, she made him feel warm and strong, and he could not help but to want to never let that feeling go. After so long of being alone, being without anyone at all, Jon had almost forgotten what it was like to feel love.

They had only known one another a night, but Sansa already felt like home.


	55. Chapter 55 - Orphan Jon 3

Sansa wakes the third night since Jon's arrival from a strange dream.

She blinks, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she tries to recall every moment- first a wolf's lonely howl, the swirl of white winter snow... She yawns, shaking her thoughts clear of the dream as they turn to Jon instead. Though it's quite late and she knows she'd been in trouble for getting out of bed, Sansa can't stop herself. She climbs from her bed and tiptoes across the room and out of the door. Jon's room is just down the hall from her own and she makes her way quietly through the darkness until she reaches his door. Somehow, she knows he's awake inside.

Pushing open the door, she closes it quietly behind her; Jon is sitting up when she turns around to face her, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight that spills through his parted curtains. "Can't you sleep?" She asks in a whisper, coming towards his bed, noticing his blankets were rumpled like he has been tossing and turning all night long.

Jon shakes his head. It's true, he's laid awake for so many hours now he's lost track. He cannot recall the last time he slept in a bed like this, perhaps never. It surprises him how little and yet how much he misses the life he'd grown to know and accept.

"Old Nan always tells me a story when I cannot sleep," Sansa says into the darkness, her own eyes catching the moonlight as she smiles. "Shall I tell you one?" It takes only a moment for Jon to nod and to his surprise, she climbs up into the bed beside him, settling happily beneath the blanket. "What shall I tell?" She drums her fingers atop legs as she thinks, humming softly to herself and Jon wonders if she even realizes she's doing it. "I know!" She finally cries, though she claps a hand to her mouth in her surprise at what she's just done. But they sit in silence a few long moments, both dreading the punishment that would come at being caught up so late. However after a minute, both sigh in relief, apparently she had not been heard. "I will tell you about Aemon the Dragonknight!" It's Jon's turn to gasp and Sansa looks at him with surprise. "You know his story?"

"It is my favorite," Jon says bashfully, looking down at his hands tangled together on his lap. "My mother..." He flinches, thinking of her hurt, but knowing he was forgetting her face hurt even more. "My mother used to tell me the story of Aemon." He feels Sansa shift and suddenly her hand is laying over top his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I can tell another one," she may be small, but Sansa understands that Jon is sad thinking about Aemon and the stories his mother used to tell him. She also understands that his mother has died and that was why he was alone at the river, or so her father had explained to her.

"No... I would like to hear such a story." He says after a moment of silence. Jon turns to look her in the eye and he smiles. "I've not heard it in so long... I've almost forgotten it. Please, tell it to me." And so they both settle back against the pillow they share, Sansa's soft words weaving him a picture of the valiant Dragonknight Aemon Targaryen, the strongest knight to have ever lived. Jon lays beside her listening, well aware her hand is still clasped with his. Her story is the one about Aemon and Baelor in the snake pit. Her words are so descriptive that Jon swears he can hear the hissing of the snakes as she tells the tale.

It's as she's halfway through the story that she's beginning to yawn; Jon too can feel his eyelids becoming droopy as he fights to stay awake, if only to hear a few more words of her story. Finally, she comes to the conclusion of Aemon carrying Baelor away to safety. Jon knows she's asleep a long moment before he feels it claim him. He smiles as he realizes she's slipped down on the pillow just enough that her head rests against his shoulder. _I haven't forgotten... _He thinks as he closes his eyes. _I remember, mother... I remember. _

And then... He sleeps.


	56. Chapter 56 - Orphan 4

When Sansa passes by the great hall, she's surprised to see Jon inside. She slows her walk until she comes to a stop, turning back so she might look through the slightly ajar door, watching him quietly. Jon stands at the center of the room which has been cleared of it's long tables, moved out of the way for that morning's dance lesson. A lesson which of course Jon had not attended. She blinks, the usual tremor of sorrow rushing through her as she realizes as always, Jon only wishes to belong.

And so she pushes open the door, sweeping into the room, catching his attention at once. He turns to face her with surprise, red tinting his cheeks as if he's shamed by being caught there. "Would you like to learn?" She asks with a smile, brushing her red hair across a shoulder. "I can teach you." Though well accepted by the Stark children, their mother could not accept Jon as her own... Perhaps it was because she believed him to be their father's own bastard, though her father swore it was not so. _How could he be, Catelyn? When Sansa brought him home from the river that morning? If he were my own, would I not have taken him in the moment of his birth? _Sansa had overheard her father say only a few nights prior, when he and her mother had been arguing again in their chamber.

Jon blinks but then a slow smile spread and he nods his head. It was true, he longed to belong to the whole Stark pack- even now, ten years since he had joined their household, Catelyn Stark still looked upon him with disdain. He could not say what it was that he had done to deserve her anger, besides looking similiar to the Starks- if he knew more, he would have been able to say perhaps she felt threatened that he looked more Stark like than her own true born sons. But Jon could only shrug and ignore her, they had so little interactions now that he had begun to grow into manhood. Besides... He had what he needed in terms of family standing there there in front of him.

He couldn't say when the flutters began, but they had hit him hard in these last few weeks. They had grown these last ten years, from a pair of friends to something more, though Jon didn't know what they were to call that either. She was a noble born lady, far beyond his station as a charity case living under the care of the Lord. It mattered not what their hearts felt.

Sansa takes a step closer to him then and grinning, reaches for his hands. "Here, you put them here..." she places one hand on her hip, "and here." This hand she kept in hers, raising them to shoulder height, while she settled her other hand upon his shoulder. "Now... To the left, two steps," she begins speaking the slow, steady moves of the dance they had been taught this morning when Theon had stepped on her toes. "A bit faster this time," Sansa laughs at his expression but gives him a nod as if to say she believed in him. They swirl around the hall, Sansa still yet speaking every move out to him, faster and faster until even she can barely keep up.

When they are both dizzy and laughing, they collapse into a heap on the floor, Sansa's dark skirts gathered all around her. "You dance well, Jon Snow," she teases with a giggle, tilting her head back, red hair spilling down her back. "Better than Theon, at least." They share a laugh at their other foster brother, sent here from the Iron Islands not long after Jon's own arrival. "But I think you'll need a few more lessons."

"If you're giving them, I won't mind." He says with a smirk and to his surprise, her cheeks turn red with color, giving her a look he's never seen before. But he likes it. Forcing away these new thoughts coming to mind, Jon rises to his feet and offers her his hand. She takes it with a grateful smile and the moment her hand is in his, it's like an electric shock- she can feel it too, he sees it all over her face. Neither of them speak for a long moment until Jon forces a grin and she does too, though her sapphire eyes are dark as they raise to meet his.

He wants to open his mouth to speak but they both jump when a voice is at the door.

"Sansa!" Catelyn Stark snaps from where she stands in the doorway, looking in at her daughter and Jon. They stand much too close for comfort and Catelyn takes a single step into the room. "Come along." Is all she says before her daughter scurries towards her, out past her and into the hallway with only a single glance back at Jon. Catelyn remains still for just a moment, keeping her eyes locked on the boy... But then she turns and follows Sansa from the room, leaving Jon alone once more.

But even so... His hand is still warm from where it once held hers.


	57. Chapter 57 - 2am- Lyric Prompt

In the darkness of her rooms, she cannot believe she's been so stupid.

She paces the floor, nightgown trailing across the rushes with every step she takes. Red hair falls down her back in a tangle of braids, half falling free from their plaits. _Why him... Why her... _She thinks these same words over and over again, unable to help but wonder if this is her punishment for falling in love with a man she shared a father with. Jon was her half brother and yet she could not help but to love him in a way one would love a husband, a lover. She knows she'd not be alive right then and there if it weren't for him. And once... She had dared to believe he felt the same for her.

But now he's returned to Winterfell with a beautiful, but powerful young queen. She cannot blame him for forgetting her- Daenerys Targaryen is such a beauty that even the most hardened of men can't help but to spare her a second or even third glance. Where Sansa is tall, Daenerys is small. She is soft and rounded edges, with silvery hair she wears in the most elaborate of braids, whereas Sansa feels sharp like steel. The dragon queen is other wordly, ethereal, with a glow about her that even Sansa cannot deny. She only wishes she weren't such a spoiled, arrogant woman. But, then again, Sansa cannot trust her own feelings for the mother of dragons, not with the taint of jealousy rushing through her veins. For all she knew, Daenerys was a sweet tempered and her compliment that morning of her own beauty was from the heart, not a calculated comment to win the Lady of Winterfell's favor.

"Damn you, Jon," she curses his name as she sinks into the window seat, tipping her forehead against the cold, frosted glass. He's only just returned that day and she hates feeling angry, she hate feeling hurt. She had thought to welcome him back with a smile but then seeing him with Daenerys like that... Riding into Winterfell like a king consort... It had left her feeling cold as ice. "And damn her too," she whispers miserably, a tear tracing the curve of her cheek as she closes her eyes, pain welling up within her heart, threatening to spill over.

It's true, this must be her punishment for falling in love with her own brother and for believing that he could ever love her too. They were not like the Targaryens, they were not like the Lannisters... They were Starks and they did not fall in love with family. No matter how close they became, no matter what they endured together... They did not fall in love with family. Tears continued to trail her cheeks as she cries, curling into herself there in the window seat, wondering just what it was about her that kept her from finding a true and pure sort of love.

"Sansa?"

Her name is a whisper in the dark but it cuts her like a knife. She gasps, turning around where she sits to face him; Jon looks as miserable as she does, a thought that brings her an ounce of comfort, of relief. He's come so quietly into her rooms she'd never even heard the door when it opened. His white shirt is rumpled, as are the old pair of breeches he wears, his dark curls wild around his face. "Sansa..." Her name is soft on his lips as she rises up from the window, her sapphire eyes never leaving his solemn Stark colored ones.

She wants to be angry, she wants to slam him with her fists... But instead, she comes to stand before him, head tilted ever so slightly. Jon reaches for her at once, his thumb gently rubbing any trace of her tears away, his lips curving with the smallest of smiles. She thinks back to every other moment when he's come to her like this, as if he had known deep down that she needed him. "I thought you would be with _her,_" she says pointedly, unable to help it, and she can see that her words wound him.

"I've missed _you, _Sansa." His voice is quiet, pained, his hand still tenderly cupping her cheek into his palm. "I swear I've not brought her here to hurt you," he goes on and Sansa blinks, staring at his with her wide, sapphire gaze. "I've brought her here to protect you. To protect the North."

"Did sleeping with her offer me extra protection?" The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. "Did you go to her bed before or after you gave her your crown?" She curses herself silently, hating herself for speaking so harshly to him. But she wants him to feel even just a little of the pain that she feels. Sansa can't even say for certain she knows that Jon slept with the dragon queen, but something tells her she doesn't have to ask to know the truth.

His hand falls from her face and her skin feels cold without his touch. "You don't understand." He says so softly that she thinks for a moment she's only imagined him saying them. "You don't understand," he says again, as if saying them twice will make her suddenly understand his motives.

"You're right, I don't." Sansa sucks in a breath, her stomach turning, heart beat increasing. "But I do understand you've chosen her over me... Over the North." She turns her back to him then, crossing the room to return to the window where she'd been when Jon first came into her room. There is several beats of silence before she hears his footsteps and the sound of the door opening then closing.

When she's alone again, she sinks back to the seat and curses his name once again.


	58. Chapter 58 - Back Together- Lyric Prompt

we were built to fall apart and fall back together.

She's scared and she's alone.

The room is dark and she wishes for sunlight, for warmth. She wishes for just one night she might close her eyes and dream, she wishes for just one single moment of peace. Fear is in her blood, in her soul, and it keeps her awake when all she longs to do is sleep. _We were built to fall apart, _she thinks, fingertips trailing along the frosted windowpane, blue eyes staring out intot the swirling winter snow. Outside, the storm rages on, as does her the one within her heart and mind.

Winterfell is hers again, but at what cost?

She thinks about Rickon, taken from them before their very eyes. She thinks about Arya, uncertain if her only little sister lived or died. She thinks about Bran, out there somewhere, and she wonders if he's safe and warm in the storm. And she thinks of Robb, with the snow melting in his Tully touched hair as his enemies sew his head upon his own wolve's body. She thinks of marrying Ramsay and his violent hands. She thinks of her father's steady gaze a moment before his head was cut from his neck. And her mother... Her poor mother. She thinks of her too and how they threw her away like garbage. Winterfell is hers again, but at what cost?

It's then that she thinks of Jon.

He comes to her mind with ease; his stoic, Stark features swim in her mind, a constant reminder that she was not yet alone. She thinks of him wrapping her in his furs the day she found him at Castle Black. And she smiles when she thinks of him complimenting her green velvet gown the day they'd gone to face Ramsay for the first time. She thinks of him beating Ramsay into the ground, not stopping until he had sensed her presence, his knuckes bruised and bleeding. Jon had done that for her. He had built an army for _her_ and had helped her to reclaim Winterfell in the name of House Stark. Jon was all she had left.

"Sansa?"

She turns at the sound of his voice and she smiles slightly, clutching her robe a little more tightly around her. He stands there, as if summoned by her thoughts of him. "Can't you sleep?" She asks, to which he shakes his head, coming to stand before her. His smile warms her. _We were built to fall apart, _she thinks again, _and fall back together. _

And then she's in his arms.


	59. Chapter 59 - I want a baby

"I want a baby."

Jon shifts from where he sits, already in bed in just his breeches. She stands beside the bed, nightgown trailing the floor, red hair a single plait down her back. "I want a baby," she says again, moving to kneel on the bed at his side, her braid swinging across her shoulder.

"Is that so, sweetheart?" He asks with a chuckle, but to his surprise she climbs over him, hips lined up with his, her weight warm but firm against him. "You're serious," he draws back then, tipping his head back against the pillows to get a good look at her face. Those sapphire eyes of hers are burning and at once, Jon feels the rush of arousal through him. He'd give her anything that she asked of him when she hovered over him like this.

"You're leaving me for Dragonstone in the morning and I should like something to remember you by," her voice is like silk, a whisper in the falling darkness.

"I won't be gone long," he's pressed a hand into the small of her back, bringing her down towards him so he can capture her mouth with his. The truth was he wouldn't mind spending the rest of his time with her in that bed. "I will be back so soon you will be wishing me away again." His teeth sink into the soft flesh of her throat, uncaring of the little bruises each bite leaves behind. She's moaning softly, head tilted back to expose the expanse of her throat to him as he trails his lips across her fluttering pulse.

"You're the King now... And every king needs an heir," her whisper is warm against his skin as she moves her lips up to find his. Jon can feel her hands roaming elsewhere and his own are pushing her nightgown up and out of the way. "When you come back to me... I want to already know I am carrying him." She lets out a long, breathy sigh as she slides into place against him, his hands gripping her waist.

Gods, he'd spend the rest of his life right there with her, that was certain.


	60. Chapter 60 - Drinking Game

"Another one, then."

Jon laughs as he tilts back the mug, sucking down yet another shot of ale at her insistence. "My turn." He says when he's slammed the mug down on the table, looking across the way at her. She sat with her back to the hearth and so the firelight framed her in the most enticing of ways- reminding Jon that yet again, he could not have her. There was little else he wanted in life than to see her smile, to feel the soft touch of her hand against him. Just to hear her say his name was almost enough. And there in the privacy of his rooms, both drinking, both happy, Jon could almost bring himself to reach for her. He could almost say to hell with propriety and all else. There was nothing else he wanted in this life beyond her. And yet... He can't do it. Not to her. Not after all she has been through... No matter how strongly he might feel, Jon knows he would never do anything at all to upset her.

It's her turn to laugh, a silky sound that filters through his thoughts, bringing him back to the moment. She brings her own goblet to her lips and drinks a long steady sip that makes her cough, her cheeks two blooms of color as she swallows the last of it. "You're supposed to ask me a question first," she reminds, though she's already taken her sip. "Go on, ask me." They're playing a game- one asks the other a question and they can answer the question or take a sip of their drink. She had only just asked him a question about the time someone had broken her favorite porcelain doll as a child... Jon had drank rather than answer, telling her all she needed to know. "Give me a good one," she prompts with a wag of her finger, sapphire eyes sparkling in the firelight that surrounds her. She is like a fire goddess, something bright and untouchable.

"Have you ever thought about kissing me?"

The question falls from his lips before he can stop it; the alcohol has given him a sense of confidence he normally does not feel. Sansa blinks- she's drunk, but she knows what he's just asked her. For a moment, silence descends and Jon wishes he could take back the words he's just said. But, to his surprise, she sets down her goblet and rises to her feet. It takes her only a moment to come around the table and she's standing before him then. She leans over him, one hand sliding into place against the curve of his jaw, his stubble rough against the soft skin of her palm. Jon has no time to think before she's captured his mouth with hers, her lips as soft as he's always imagined them to be. His hand comes up to touch her cheek, pulling her deeper into the kiss that seems like it might last for the rest of eternity. But then she's pulling back, her blue eyes sparkling, cheeks red from a whole lot more than just the alcohol. "Yes," is all she whispers before she moves as if she means to return to her chair, but Jon can't let her go. Not yet.

He pulls her down onto his lap, hands sliding into her hair as his mouth hovered so close to hers that he can feel when they curve with a smile. "Your turn," he says softly, heart beat racing when she laughs.

"Have you ever thought of kissing _me?_" She asks, breath warm against his skin; she smells of ale and rose water. Jon does not reach for his glass again, but rather allows her red hair to slip through his fingers, uncaring of the pins he's knocked loose. There's only one answer he can give, one that requires no words at all.

He kisses her, giving the only answer that made any sense at all.


	61. Chapter 61 - I'd tell him I missed him

I'd tell him that I missed him, but I've never heard silence quite this loud.

My ears are ringing, my heart is thumping. "Sansa..." He speaks my name so softly and I'm lost in his voice, I'm lost in his eyes. He's been gone all these weeks and I cannot even find the words to tell him that I've missed him, that I love him. We're alone in my rooms and I want him to take me into his arms, I want him to hold me like he held me the night before he left for Dragonstone. All this time he's been gone, I've done little else but think of that night and all of the things I wished we'd said, I wished we'd done. Now he's back and I'm back to imagining those things. "Say something," he whispers, taking a tentative step towards me, closing what little gap remained between us. He's so close now I can smell him- he smells of firewood and horses, telling me he's been down at the wildlings camp. He's not been with that soft faced, silver haired queen as I had suspected.

"There's nothing to say," I say as I lean in, brushing his mouth with my own. It's a hesitant kiss, this kiss I've initiated, a question that I could not find the words to ask. Jon's response is to completely take control. His kiss his hungry, starving. It's a kiss of a man that's been waiting, a kiss of a man who's done little else but long for it. How is it that I've felt the very same way? I feel his hands in my hair, knocking pins from my braids, but we don't care. He's pushing me back until my thighs bump up against the bed; his kiss only intensifies. One hand is still in my hair as the other begins to wander, stopping only at my hip, though the grip of his fingers is tight through the layers of my gown. "Do you love her?" I ask before I can stop myself.

Jon pulls back and my body screams in protest. Every inch of me is tingling, every inch of me wants to feel his hands again. "I love the North." He says, his fingertips trailing from my temple down my cheek and then even along my swollen lips. "I love you." He corrects himself with a smile, tipping his forehead against mine. "Have a little faith in me."

"You know I do." I reply before I kiss him again, this one matching his in hunger. His hands are on my shoulders then, gently pushing me down onto the bed. I sink and scoot back, giving him the space he needs to climb into the bed over me, his tongue meeting mine as I pull his leather jerkin off and toss it to the floor. His hands have snuck around the back of me and I can feel him unlacing my gown just enough that it slips from my shoulders, exposing my skin to him. I thread my fingers through his wild curls as he breaks the kiss to instead trail his lips along my throat down further still. His lips brush across my collarbone and along the swell of my breasts, and then back up to kiss a scar from Ramsay on my left shoulder.

This time when he raises his mouth back to mine, the kiss is slow and gentle, a kiss that says to me everything our words had not.


	62. Chapter 62 - In the Crypts

It's as she's coming across the courtyard that she sees Jon. She slows her pace and comes to a standstill, watching him as he walks along the edge of the yard, towards the door that would lead down into the crypts. The night was late by now and she knows he's supposed to be resting, these hours after the final battle with the man she'd just killed. Jon should have been in his room, sleeping, or at the very least just sitting up doing nothing. She knows she should give him space, but when she began to walk again it was towards the very same door Jon had only just gone through.

The crypts were dimly lit, the torches casting eerie shadows along the walls, but she felt no fear. This one place, surrounded by her family, she felt safe. Down here, she felt close to those death had taken away. She walks the length of the hall and only stops when she hears the soft sound of someone crying. Sucking in a breath, she leans around the corner where she stands and sees the source. It's Jon... of course it's Jon. He stands over Rickon's battered body, not yet buried into his eternal resting place, instead laid out beneath the watchful eyes of their father's statue.

Deciding this is not a moment to watch in secret, Sansa comes around the corner and at the sound of her footsteps, Jon is looking up. Their eyes meet for one long moment before Jon looks back down at Rickon's pale face, shame rushing through his veins as he looked upon the little brother he had failed. As Sansa comes to stand beside him, he's hit with memories; there's Sansa with Rickon in her arms, his white blanket trailing the ground. There's Arya and Bran tumbling around the yard while Rickon cheers them on. And there's Robb hoisting Rickon up onto a horse for the first time. "I failed him," Jon murmurs as he reaches out to brush a curl from the boy's forehead. "I should have listened to you." He goes on to say, recalling Sansa's warnings, wishing he'd heeded them sooner.

"He would have killed Rickon no matter what," she says softly, Jon's heartbreak bringing tears to her own eyes. She has already cried all the tears she could for this baby brother lost to her. She feels strangely numb to it all, losing Rickon, killing Ramsay. It's as if she lives in a dream world where any moment she might wake and none of it even had happened. "It wasn't your fault." In truth, if anyone was to blame for Rickon's death, it was her. She was the one to leave Ramsay and start the conflict. She was the one who convinced Jon to go to war for their home, for their family. She was the one who had known Rickon was as good as dead the day that letter had come.

"This is what happens to those I care for," he whispers, as if he's not even heard the words she's spoken. Sansa glances to him and what she sees is a broken man. Her heart aches even more. He's thinking of Ygritte, he's thinking of Rickon. He's thinking of Robb, he's thinking of Arya, of Bran. He's thinking of Sansa too, hurt beyond measure by a monster disguised as a man. He would have killed Ramsay Bolton that night for what he'd done to Rickon alone... But knowing what he'd done to Sansa had woke something dark and violent within himself. The only thing that could wake him from the fog of violence was Sansa herself, when she'd pinned him with those sapphire colored eyes. "I am cursed," he spits out, turning away then as if he cannot even look at her. Truth was, he didn't want her to look at _him. _

Sansa remains quiet before she reaches for him, taking him by the arm and forcing him back around to face her. "That's not true," is all she says before she wraps him in her embrace. He sinks against her, his arms snaking around her waist as he buries his face into her hair, breathing in the rosewater she's washed in that very morning. When she holds him like this, he believes in what she says. Sansa knows he cries, but she only holds him tighter, speaking soft words into his ear, her hands rubbing circles against the curve of his spine. She doesn't let go until he pulls back, peeling himself from the warmth of her body.

"How is it you always know just what to say?" He asks and she blushes beneath his gaze, raising her shoulders in a shrug, a gesture Septa Mordane never could break her from. He smiles at the sight of the gesture, a quick reminder that the girl she once was wasn't entirely dead. "Wait... What is it that you're doing out so late?" Jon suddenly blinks as if he's coming back to the real world, suddenly realizing the hour is quite late and the night quite cold. Sansa is the one who turns away then, her hand reaching out to tenderly touch Rickon's cold cheek. The torchlight bounces off her auburn braids, giving them a golden hue that reminds him of a crown; its almost as if he can see one sitting upon her head.

She wrestles with telling him.

Part of her wants it to be hers and only hers. A secret she would take with her to her own grave here in the crypts. But when she turns back to face him, she knows Jon is the only person in the world she could trust with any secret, with anything at all. "Ramsay," is all she says, voice a hollow whisper, sapphire eyes never leaving Jon's somber eyes. "He's dead." Only then does she turn back to look down at Rickon, her hands clenching into tight fists atop the stone slab Rickon is laid out on.

Jon isn't surprised. The only reason Ramsay had lived that day was because he'd know it wasn't his own fight to end- Sansa was the one who deserved to make the choice. Whether she did it of her own accord somehow, or she asked it of him... Either way, Jon knew it had to be her decision and hers alone. "Are you alright?" He finally asks, watching as she touches Rickon's hand, knowing she feels the cold feel of death beneath her fingertips. She nods. For several minutes or perhaps even several lifetimes, they stand there together. But finally, Jon slings an arm around her shoulders and draws her away from the little brother they both loved so much.

Tomorrow they would bury him and somehow, someway, they would keep on going.


	63. Chapter 63 - Your Hands are Tough

It's late into the night and she can't sleep.

Sansa can't say what it was that had woke her- perhaps a bad dream now forgotten, or perhaps the sound of the thunder crashing outside the window was the culprit. The spring storm had happened upon Winterfell fast that day and she had never felt happier than she had when the first droplets splashed against her skin. Spring had been coming, slowly but surely, those last few months and finally, the very first storm had come.

In the darkness, she reaches for him. Jon snores softly beside her, tucked towards her with an arm slung over the expanse of the bed, his hand lazily draped across her pelvis. She ghosts her fingertips along each of his fingers and over the back of his hand. Even in his sleep does he react to her touch as his hand tenses and relaxes with every stroke of her fingers. Her lips curve with a smile as she raises his hand from her hip, inspecting every inch of the hand that so often holds her. They are hardened with callouses, proof of his tight sword grip and hard work in rebuilding Winterfell. Those same hands that swing a sword touch her in ways she thought quite impossible.

She realizes he's awake long before he tightens his fingers around hers. "Do my hands keep you awake like this every night, sweetheart?" His teasing vocals are heavy with sleep and Sansa smiles into the night, shifting so she might look upon his face. For several long moments they peer back at one another until she chuckles and slides down, head against her pillow, tucked close against him. She keeps her hand on his though, returning to her soft strokes, his skin warm against hers.

"Your hands... They're tough..." She murmurs into the darkness, fingers tracing the length of his palm, feeling him shiver beside her. He moves as if he means to draw his hand back, perhaps shamed by the tough, hardened hands he holds her with each night. But she holds fast, keeping his palm in her grasp. "But they're where mine belong." She threads hers with his and smiles as she snuggles closer into the warmth of his touch.


	64. Chapter 64 - My Only Regret

"My only regret is not telling you I loved you sooner," he whispers into the dark, his hands still yet roaming every inch of her body. It's the night before he's to leave for Dragonstone and he had come to her rooms only to share a private goodbye. And yet, he'd ended up in her bed instead. Not that either of them minded much; they had been teetering upon this moment for weeks now and only the fear of never seeing one another again had sent them both over the edge.

Her mouth is on his, igniting back the fire in his loins, the warmth seeping from his belly down. "You did," she says softly when she pulls back a moment later, capturing his face between her palms. "Maybe not like this, but I've always known." She recalls every moment that had led them here; Jon's first embrace back at Castle Black. The touch of his hand when she'd woke from a nightmare and already found him at her bedside, as if he'd already known she needed him. His icy exchange with Ramsay Bolton, the war he went to for her and for their home. There were so many moments, so very many that told her the truth of his heart. It was wrong, she supposed, considering their sibling ties... But after years of abuse, years of torture, they deserved to be happy. Even if no one else understood. "You're coming home, right?" She then asks, sapphire eyes finding those Stark gray of his, their solemn gaze warming her to her very core. Those same eyes had never been softer than when he'd unlaced her from her gown. "Swear to me you will come home."

_Home. _Home was her, home was right where he was. Jon smiles before he leans in, catching her mouth with his. "I swear to you I will be home before you know it." He smooths back a stray lock of her red hair, still amazed at how soft it feels between his fingers. "I will bring with me an army and a dragon queen if it means protecting you and the North." His mouth trails from hers down her jaw and down further still, just barely touching down against her collarbone. "Sansa... When I come home..." _I want to spend every single moment of the rest of my life with you... I want to stay beside you..._ _I want to marry you. _He raises his gaze up to her face and she smiles, threading her fingers into his hair.

"When you come home, spring will come again." She says softly, recalling the dream she'd had only nights before... A dream of a garden overflowing with flowers, of sunlight warming her skin, with Jon at the center and his arms outstretched towards her. "Just come home, Jon, please." He nods before he buries himself against her, their bodies so close it was as if they ceased to be separate. They lay together a long while, just a tangle of limbs and love.

Improper as it may have been, Jon remained there in her bed until the morning call came, uncaring of who might stumble into her rooms and find them together like this. The risk of being found did not outweight the warmth of her skin or the feel of her lips on his. But when the call came, he knew he had to rise, he knew he had to go. And so he dressed quietly beside her bed, leaning over her as she still yet slept soundly in the bed they had shared all night long. He pressed a kiss against her temple and silently slipped from the room, knowing with him he would carry the memory of that night. That memory would keep him moving even during the darkest of nights at Dragonstone.

And she would carry something as well, something more than a memory. Something that would get her through the long days and nights without him.


	65. Chapter 65 - Marriage Tourney

When Jim Frost's name was announced before all of the crowd, no one was more surprised than the queen herself. A hush fell over the gathering as a man with wild, dark curls stepped into the center, his sword still yet sheathed at his side. If anyone had noticed the unmistakable white wolf at its hilt, none spoke of it. In truth, there were not many there in that crowd that would not know Jon Snow's face, regardless of the name he went by to try and hide his identity. None could forget what their one time King had done for them and for their she wolf queen.

It had been two years now since his banishment to the Wall and none missed him more than the queen that now hung over the box she sat in, sapphire eyes straining to see the man they called Jim Frost. She was smiling in a way none had seen before, a radiant glow to her typically stoic features. Behind her, Brienne the lady knight was smiling too.

This part of the tourney was a sword match, only to be held until one man was empty handed. The match commenced with a beat from a drum and the wild looking man was the first to connect a blow to his opponent's sword. Such a tournament was held to secure the Northern queen a husband, a king. After nearly two yeas of ruling alone, the pressure from the lords for her to marry and have an heir or two was beginning to become too much. And so she had given in to their idea to hold a tournament where the winner would become the King in the North. Though it wasn't what she wanted, Sansa knew her duty as queen. So she wore a brave face and knew in the end, though none would be Jon, at least he would be from the North.

She watches with more fervor than she has up until now; she leans over the edge of the queen's box so often, Brienne finally touches her arm to pull her back into her chair. She cheers when this so called Jim Frost knocks the first man's sword from his hands. Another is brought into the field and he too is defeated, much quicker than the first man. When the third man is defeated, Jim Frost is declared the winner of the first round and Sansa can barely contain her excitement.

One by one, every round of the tournament is dominated by Jim Frost until finally, there's no tournament left to be had. When he rides past her on the joust, he tosses into her lap a crown of blue winter roses, the meaning lost to nearly everyone there but the queen herself. She smiles as she sets the flowers upon her head, their blue coloring a stark contrast to the vibrant red of her hair.

The end then comes and Jim Frost is the winner, without a doubt. Sansa comes down to the center field, the crown of flowers still yet upon her head, and she smiles as she approaches the man standing there. Her heart is pounding so hard she thinks she might faint there before everyone, though she keeps her back straight and extends a hand out for the man to grasp. It's Jon, of course it's Jon. He takes her by the hand and draws it to his lips, an intimate gesture that weakens her knees. "My queen," he says as he bows over her hand, speaking the two words he's always wished to say to her. Queen was the only title in the world that fit her. "I am honored to stand in your presence, for I am unworthy." His words are soft, meant only for her, but the crowd murmurs among themselves, as if they sense this moment is not for them.

"You are quite worthy," she says without hesitation, gripping his hand tightly with her own. "The rules of the tournament are quite clear, the winner is to become King. He is to become my husband." She holds his gaze and Jon's lips curve with the smallest of smiles, as if he dares not believe what she says.

"I have only come to win the tournament in your honor, my queen." Finally, those two words do not feel hollow nor empty upon his lips. Finally, those two words have meaning.

Suddenly she understands what he's done and she smiles. "I see," she looks over her head at Lord Royce who stands beside Brienne behind her. "It seems I shall not find a husband in Jim Frost," she says to him with a chuckle. She feels no sadness in her heart as Jon returns her hand to his lips, pressing them against her knuckles. There is no sadness to feel, because it was true, she would find no husband in Jim Frost.

It would be Jon Snow.

[ x x x ]

When the gate opens up with a cry from the guard, Jon is surprised.

He can count on one hand the amount of times they've received any type of visitor here at Castle Black in the last year, even with the arrival of spring. This far North, the snows still yet fell, though not as hard nor as fast. It had even begun to warm up, a sudden but pleasant change for what was left of the Night's Watch.

At his side, Ghost suddenly lets out an excited sounding yelp before he takes off towards the gate, Jon turning to follow the wolf with his gaze. His breath catches in his throat at the sight of the three riders coming in through the gate, very reminiscent of three riders coming through so many moons ago. He recognizes Brienne of Tarth at once and her squire Podrick, both coming in behind the single rider upon a snow white mare. He knows it's Sansa long before Brienne helps her down from the horse, long before she pulls back the hood of her cloak to reveal her fire kissed hair. The few men in the yard drop to their knees in reverence of their queen, but she smiles and laughs, waving them back up onto their feet as Ghost nearly topples her in his effort to receive some love.

And then, their eyes meet.

Jon stumbles across the yard towards her, casting aside all propriety in that moment. Right then, she was not a crowned queen but the woman he loves and misses with his entire being. Right then, he needs to hold her in his arms like he hasn't in nearly two whole years. When he draws back from her, it's to hold her at arms length, it's to cup her cheek into his palm as he shakes his head. "I.. I don't get it. What are you doing here?" He asks incredulously, as if he dares not yet believe it's really her standing there.

Her smile is as bright as the sun that shines overhead. "I've come to fetch my husband, my king."

The only thing then that makes sense to do is to lean in and capture her mouth with his, uncaring of all the eyes upon them. This time when he pulls back, she's already reaching for him again, this kiss full of every unspoken thing between them. A kiss that he would gladly let consume him. A kiss he never wanted to break free from. But when he does, he's laughing and she's blushing, her cheeks two bright blooms of color. There are only three words that he knows he can say now. "Take me home."


	66. Chapter 66 - Won't Bend

The solar is empty when he steps inside.

He's not surprised, given the late hour, though he's disappointed to not have even just a moment with her. They've spent little time together since his return- since that first argument they'd had in this very room. _Did you bend the knee because you love her? _Sansa's question still whirls in his mind, reminding him over and over again of the pain he's most surely causing her. It had been written all over her face that night, the truth of her feelings reflected in the catch of her breath, in the shine of her eyes. He knows he's putting her through grief, but again he tells himself it's for her benefit, even if she doesn't know it.

Making his way towards her desk, he reaches out and sees his own handwriting on a stack of parchment at the top left of the surface. He picks it up and sees it's the last letter he sent her from Dragonstone; now that he looks, she's kept all of the letters he sent. He wonders if she knows he's kept all of hers as well. Setting the letter back down, he smiles, thinking of her sitting behind this desk each day, running the North like the Lady, no Queen, she was truly meant to be. He thinks of her with her fiery red hair falling down her back as she writes her commands out, he thinks of her sapphire blue eyes rising to meet any lord that stands before her, speaking to him with more reason than any seasoned noble man ever could. The room feels of her, even in her absence, and its like she's there beside him even now. Her cloak is draped over the back of the chair behind the desk and he can't stop himself from reaching out to touch the soft furs.

And then, as if his thoughts have summoned her, she's suddenly there, clearing her throat in the doorway to catch his attention. He turns around to face her and her eyes are dark and weary, her lips pursed into a frown; he knows that she's angry, but even she can't stop her features from softening ever so slightly at the sight of him. "I thought you were with _her," _she speaks simply, but he knows at once what she means. She steps up closer to where he stands and at once Jon catches the scent of roses, knowing well that it comes from her red hair which now hangs free from its braids of the day. "You left dinner so fast," she goes on, sliding past him to step behind her desk.

Jon thinks about the real reason he'd disappeared so quickly, he thinks about what it was that Samwell had told him down in the crypts. That truth is there on his lips, but he's afraid. He's afraid to tell her and endanger her more than necessary. She's doing a fine job of that herself, after all. "Sansa... We must talk." Is all he can say instead. She looks up from the stack of papers she's pretended to busy herself with and their eyes lock. He thinks back to what Daenerys has already said, a thinly veiled threat of violence against this girl he loves so much. This girl he loved despite a sibling bond, a bond thats now disappeared entirely. He can't imagine what it would feel like to lose her, to see any form of harm come to her. He can't bear that, not even to imagine it. And so he plunges on. "You must bend to her." He would rather risk her anger forever than to lose her to dragonfire.

He watches as her face changes; first she blinks, leaning in as if she thinks she's not heard him correctly. But then she abandons the paper in her hand to come back around and stand before him. He can see her pulse beating in her throat and his hand twitches with his need to reach out and touch her. "You think I will bend to her?" She asks, a quiet rage, like a winter storm. "I will not." She shakes her head, blue eyes darkening with her anger. "I will not bend the knee, Jon! Not to her!" Her breath catches in her throat, her chest heaving, eyes wild. "You insult me by thinking I would bend to _her_." Her last words are a whisper, a thread.

No, of course she wouldn't, he should have known.

"Sansa..." He speaks her name, the syllables bringing him just an ounce of comfort. He can take it no longer and so he reaches for her, pulling her into his embrace. At first she fights against him, but it takes only a moment for her to yield to his touch, sinking into his arms as her own come around his back. "I only want to see you safe," he whispers into her hair, pulling her closer still, breathing in her sweet rose scent. "I would die if anything happened to you." The moment calls for the truth that has sat upon his heart since the day she had returned to him back at Castle Black. "I love you, don't you realize it?" The words leave his lips before he can stop them and she's pulling back then, looking into his eyes with a strange look upon her face. "I only mean..." He tries to find a way to change what he's said, remembering she still yet believes them to be siblings. But then... She kisses him.

It's a long, sweet kiss, one that might have knocked him to the floor had he not been holding so tightly to her. He kisses her back, it's the only thing that makes any sense.


	67. Chapter 67 - Inviting Dany to Winterfell

When the truth of Jon's birth had been revealed after they took back Winterfell, there was no aminosity. Rather, the Northern lords rallied behind him, and with the support of their Lady, he was named King of the Iron Throne right there in the walls of Winterfell. A usurper queen sat upon his throne in King's Landing, and the North vowed to take back Jon's birthright. He was as much Ned Stark's son now as he had been before his parentage had been revealed. There was not a Northern man alive that would stand strong behind Jon. And so it is proclaimed through all of Westeros that a new King would rise up to claim his throne- a Northern born dragon, the white wolf of Winterfell would take back what was always meant to be his.

And so now, several weeks since they had reclaimed Winterfell and Jon had been named King, he sits in his solar alone with Sansa.

"Lord Bryce sends his apologies for not attending the most recent meeting, it seems his children caught the winter sickness," Sansa is saying as she reads through the raven scrolls brought that very morning. Jon stands at the window, looking out into the courtyard below, Ghost at his feet. The wolf has scarcely left Sansa's side since she had found them at Castle Black some months ago, so he can't help but to smile when he feels him brush up against his own leg. "It has been especially bad this year," she goes on as she sets the parchment aside, sitting back in her chair to raise her gaze to where he stands. She recalls many years ago when as a child, Jon had fallen gravely ill with the same sickness. As if he knows she thinks of him, he turns to face her, his typically stoic features softening with a smile all for her.

They still are learning to navigate this world of being cousins, rather than half siblings. There has been a connection between them since their reunion some months ago, a connection far beyond that of a brother and sister. A connection that left them both uncertain, tip toeing around the other, fearful of what feelings grew between them. But now... Now they were free to feel as they pleased and neither had quite come to terms with that.

"We are lucky it's not reached Winterfell." Jon replies as he takes a step closer to where she sits, Ghost moving all the way across the room to instead curl around her ankles. He opens his mouth to speak again, but there comes a knock to the door, interrupting whatever it was he was about to say.

"Your grace, my lady," Lord Royce appears in the doorway, coming in with a bow. "A letter has just come for you." He extends his hand, a tightly rolled scroll in his grasp, which Jon takes with a nod of thanks. When the man has stepped back out of the room, Jon unrolls the parchment and begins to read. He doesn't realize his face changes until Sansa speaks out, asking what the letter says.

"It is from my friend, Samwell Tarly. From the citadel." Jon looks up from the letter and his eyes meet hers. "He says there is dragonglass on the island of Dragonstone." Sansa blinks before she nods, understanding what he is saying. Since taking back Winterfell, they have talked extensively about what is coming for them next. The Night King and his army will descend upon all of Westeros if they don't stop him. And they can only do such a thing with said dragonglass, materials that can be turned to weapons that kill wights.

"Daenerys Targaryen sits in Dragonstone now," Sansa replies, thinking of a letter she had received from her one time husband Tyrion Lannister only a few days before. A letter reminding the North of who the one true Queen of the Iron Throne. Jon had dismissed such a letter, telling her that the struggle for the Iron Throne wouldn't matter if the Night King and his army killed them all. Jon turns back to look out the window, his mind racing as he tries to think about what the next step must be. It takes only Sansa a moment to know. "We must invite her here," she says, her words bringing Jon back from his thoughts. He turns back around to face her as she rises up from the chair she'd been sitting in. "We will invite this Daenerys Targaryen here and we will make peace, even just for now. It is as you said... The struggle for the throne matters not until the Night King is defeated. Besides... She's your family." If she was Jon's family, then she was hers as well. "We will defeat the Night King together."

Jon stares back at her several moments before he gives a nod, relief rushing through him. It is moments like these that he's so thankful to have her in his life. Sansa smiles and tilts her head, red hair a waterfall across a shoulder, sapphire eyes sparkling in the firelight that spills into the room from the hearth behind her. Suddenly, the light bounces from her red hair like a golden crown, and it's as if he's seeing a vision of the future. It's as if the image has been there all along, of her in silk gowns and a golden crown of a queen.

Finally he finds his voice.

"Invite her, then."

[ x x x ]

It's two weeks later when a raven arrives, addressed to Sansa.

"Who is it from?" Jon asks from where he sits on the egde of her bed, having joined her in her rooms only a few minutes before. Sansa sits at her looking glass, where she had been pinning the last of her braids into place when the attendant brought the letter.

Sansa breaks the seal on the parchment, but she already knows the handwriting that is scrawled across the front. "Tyrion Lannister," she says, her words bringing Jon to his feet as she swivels around in her chair to face him. "Daenerys Targaryen has accepted my invitation. She will come North." Their gazes meet, locked into place for several long moments, before he nods. "We must prepare." She goes on, setting the letter aside as she too rises up to her feet, black skirts swirling with her movements.

Again, Jon nods, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as she comes to stand before him. "I will take care of everything," she goes on to say with a quick smile. "If I remember correctly, you and Robb never paid much mind to any of our lessons beyond one that involved holding a sword." Jon laughs at her remark, visibly relaxing then beneath her sapphire gaze.

"I would be lost without you," he says and it's her turn to laugh.

"That's the smartest thing I think you've ever said," she teases, looping her arm through his when he offers it to her. Both are well aware of the warmth of one another's skin, even through their layers of clothing. "Walk with me down to the godswood? I promised Ghost we might go," she speaks as he steers her from the room and into the hall. The wolf enjoyed racing through the trees, howling to the winter sky above. Jon can only smile, loving to see the bond that had developed between his wolf and her. One might even say Ghost belonged to Sansa and not Jon.

"Lead the way," he says with a grin and together, they make their way down through Winterfell, through the home they had reclaimed together. He would walk with her anywhere.


	68. Chapter 68 - Braid Cutting

When she wakes, she's in a room she's never seen before.

Almost at once, the memories are returning to her, though in fragments of their whole parts. She can remember the goblet of wine upon her table, as if left there for her by a maid or Brienne. She can remember sliding off her fur cloak, draping it across the chair back before she reaches for the goblet. She can still remember the sweet taste of the wine as it touched her lips. And then... She was stumbling, heavy, the goblet slipping from her grasp to spill across the rushes. She falls next, her body tumbling to the ground where she lays, fighting to remain awake, alert. But she's losing the battle. The last thing she can recall before the darkness takes hold is the sound of her door closing.

And that's it.

"You're awake."

The voice is at her doorway and so she turns, coming face to face with the silver haired Targaryen queen. She should have known. "Where have you brought me?" Sansa asks through gritted teeth, though she cannot find the footing to rise up from the bed. The sleeping draught Daenerys had somehow administered to her wine that night was strong, stronger than even the stuff the maester's had given her both in King's Landing and at Castle Black. Her limbs feel like lead, her brain still yet foggy, and she hates herself for it. If only she were a little stronger.

"Dragonstone," the dragon queen says as she pushes away from the door to come closer to the bed. "I have brought you here as my hostage." She speaks casually, violet eyes brimming with white hot rage. She hates her, this dragon queen, Sansa realizes. "Jon Snow will regret betraying my trust, my heart." Daenerys whispers as she comes even closer yet. It's only then that Sansa notices the small blade clutched tightly in the woman's hands. "I will not kill you," Daenerys says as she reaches out with her free hand, grasping Sansa by the end of her long, red braid. Sansa's stiff, tired body cannot react fast enough to what is to come next. "I mean only to send him a message." Before Sansa can say a single word, Daenerys puts the blade more than half way up the braid and hacks it off.

She allows Sansa to fall back against the bed, the long braid now clutched tightly in her hand. Daenerys recalls that night she'd seen them together, when Jon had run his hands through those vibrant red strands. Even now, she seethes thinking about it, and even the destroying of that hair is not enough to calm her angry heart. The dragon queen turns on her heel then and storms from the room, into another where she will prepare the message to send to Jon and to the North.

Left in her rooms, Sansa can only struggle back into a sitting position, hating herself for the tears that cling to her lashes. She reaches up a hand, touching her now butchered red locks. The length that once fell to her waist now barely touches her shoulders; it's ends are jagged and uneven, a testament to the dullness of the blade Daenerys had used. "Not my hair," she murmurs as tears begin to course down her cheeks, sorrow and anger both coursing through her. She could not help but to feel the loss of her hair- proof of her Tully heritage, grown since her days as a carefree child in Winterfell. Hair that Jon loved to run his hands through, hair that he whispered was his favorite piece of her.

Now it was gone.

[ x x x ]

She's been gone three days when the raven arrives.

Jon is pacing his solar, sleepless and wild. He's certain of where Sansa has been taken too, Dragonstone of course, but how can he attack when she has her dragons? The moment he approached the island, Jon knew she would set the dragons out to make quick work of his fleet and soldiers. No... Getting Sansa back would take more than just a typical army tactic.

"My lord?"

He turns when the voice breaks into his thoughts; it's Davos, hand extending out to hand him a scroll. "It only just came." The older man says as Jon takes the letter, knowing without any ounce of doubt who it would be from. He slowly unrolls the parchment and his heart sinks into his stomach as the long, single plait of red hair falls into his palm. He hears Davos' breath catch in his throat as he too sees the hair that's fallen free from the letter.

Though his anger threatens to blind him, Jon takes a deep breath, the braid clutched tightly in his other fist, and he reads: _Jon, _

_There can not be two heirs to the Iron Throne- give up your claim and I will set her free._

_Or don't... And I will cut off more than her pretty red hair. _

When he's finished reading, he's already on the move, thrusting the letter into Davos' hands, pushing past him to rush from the room. He will go to Dragonstone and he will save her. One way or another, he will get her back.


	69. Chapter 69 - Living in Winter

The truth fell between them, keeping them apart; she feels so far from him that it's as if her hand cannot reach him. A heavy truth, a sweet divide, a broken soul. He looks at her as if he's never been more lost, as if he's never been whole. All around them the snow falls, soft white flurries that coat their hair, coat their skin. Sansa shivers. "It is as I've always told you," he speaks again, his voice a thread, a rasping broken sound that breaks her heart into thousands of pieces. "I'm not a Stark."

"Yes, you are," she answers without hesitation, stepping closer, bridging that gap between them. Her body is warm as it brushes against his, reminding him of the summer sun. Suddenly, the space between them felt minimal, felt nonexistent. "You are a Stark as much as I am." Her hand reaches for his, her skin warm despite the gloves between their palms. "Look at me," she speaks sharp, her words forcing him to raise his gaze up to hers. His dark colored Stark eyes are swimming with emotion and she longs to provide him with any sort of comfort that she can. "It matters not who your father was, you are still a Stark. You're one of us, part of the pack."

It takes several moments, but a small, oh so small, smile blooms upon his lips. "When the snows fall..." He raises his free hand up, catching snowflakes in his palm. "And the white winds blow..."

It's Sansa's turn to smile. "The lone wolf dies but the pack survives." She finishes the words her father, _their_ father had spoken hundreds of times through their childhoods. The words their little pack would live by for the rest of their lives. "But summer will come again." She goes on with a strong, confident nod. "We're living in winter, but I'll be your summer." Her words draw another smile from his lips and it's a moment later that he's drawing her into his strong, warm embrace. There in the snow covered godswood, he takes her into his arms and holds on tight, a further reminder of the love in his heart, in his life.

It was as she said, they lived in winter's cold grasp, but she would be his warm summer touch.


	70. Chapter 70 - Kiss the Tears

It's late and he finds himself unable to sleep.

Another night where he's kept awake by the mere thought of her; she consumes him, heart and soul, and he wonders if she even knows. But of all the women he could fall for... Why did it have to be her? He thinks of her, with her fire kissed hair and her sapphire eyes... The wary smile she only showed to him. It was he that she trusted to keep her safe from the monsters of the world. He was the brother who had not failed her, the brother that had helped her take back what was theirs. She trusted in him and no matter what he felt inside of his heart, he would never betray those feelings. Not now, especially after all she had been through.

And yet... There was a piece of him that could not fight against it. She had lit a fire within him and it burned so very bright that he was certain it would never die out. Even now, hours later he could feel the ghost of her touch against his hand, could feel the warmth of her slow smile as she softly spoke his name. Sometimes, he couldn't help but to think part of her felt the exact same way that he felt. They way she looked at him with those blue eyes... Eyes that could swallow him whole, eyes that he would willingly drown within.

Jon knows it's wrong, he knows what they say about those who love their siblings in such an unnatural way. But he can't help it, he can't stop it. If he could push the thoughts and the feelings away, he'd have already done it. But there she is again and again, her presence surrounding him whether he slept or sat up before the fire all night long.

He's supposing he might lay down when he hears it, the softest knocking upon his chamber door. Ghost is up at once, his ears twitching, red eyes staring straight ahead at the still closed door. It takes Jon only a moment to rise up from where he sits and cross the room, opening the door without a second thought. It's Sansa that's standing there, wrapped in her cloak and pale faced, eyes seeking out his in the darkness. "Sansa..." Her name is upon his lips and he's at once stepping aside, gesturing for her to come into the warmth of his chamber. Worry has begun to course through him, he knows this look upon her face, he's seen it before.

She doesn't know why she's come to his rooms other than when she's scared, Jon keeps her safe. His arms are the only place she feels whole. "Are you alright?" He asks quietly and she sucks in a breath, blinking fast against the tears already gathering upon her lashes. Was she okay? Such a question was laughable. She hasn't been okay in years.

At least... Until she found him.

And as if he knows, as if he understands, Jon opens his arms to her and she falls into place into them. He holds fast to her, one hand threading through her red hair, the other pressing into the small of her back. She hates herself for the warmth that pools in her belly- this strange, lustful feeling she feels is for a man she calls brother. A feeling she's never felt about a man in all of her life. But... When Jon holds her like this, every nightmare she's ever had fades away. When Jon holds her like this, she feels true peace, true safety. Jon is the only man who's never let her down, who's protected her as he always said he would. If only they could have stayed right there forever. "I had a nightmare," is all she can whisper before she buries her face into the crook of his neck, to feel his pulse beat against her cheek.

When a few moments have passed, Jon pulls back, though the gap that remains between them is minimal at best. His hand is warm at her waist, the other sliding from her hair to her cheek. His fingertips ghost across her jaw, leaving fire in their wake. She catches her lower lip between teeth, the breath catching in her throat as their eyes meet. In this moment, it's as if they understand one another perfectly. And thats when Jon leans in, a hairsbreadth of space between his lips and her skin. The taste of her tears cling to his lips even when he draws back a moment later and he finds he longs to kiss more than just the tears from her cheeks. All this time... He's been so frightened of the feelings growing deep within his heart, but standing there, looking into her eyes... He knows the truth of her heart as well as his own. His fear fades as he leans in once again, this time capturing her mouth with his own.

The kiss breaks and she's so close that he can feel the curve of her lips as she smiles. She's so very close and he never wants to let her go.

And he might not.


	71. Chapter 71 - If I Kill For You

"Please don't go."

Her words are a soft plea in the darkness of his room; she hovers over him, the ends of her red hair trailing across his naked chest. "Please." She whispers as she leans across him, her mouth just barely reaching his. Jon runs his hands up her spine and back again, relishing in the feel of her soft skin beneath his touch, turning his mouth up to capture hers in a slow, steady kiss.

"I have to go," he murmurs when he draws back, shifting until he's sitting upright with her still yet straddling him. She's tilting her head back and he trails soft kisses from her mouth down her jaw and even further still, until his teeth sink into the soft flesh of her throat. "I told you I would do whatever it took to protect you," his voice is warm against her skin, his words ghosting along her collarbone. "I have to go," he says again, as if this is enough, as if this single explanation would be enough for her.

"I'm afraid," her voice catches and Jon lifts his gaze back up to meet hers. "I'm so afraid, Jon."

He raises his hand to gently cup her cheek into his palm and she leans into his touch, her hand sliding into place over his. "I will come home to you," he says quietly, understanding the fear she must have felt. Was it not the same fear he felt for her? He thinks back to the plan they've devised, they and their pack, a plan that would protect them and the realm. He knows the danger it can and will bring to himself, but he would gladly give up his life if it meant protecting her and the North. If it meant protecting the family he loved so very much. "And if I die for you..." He chuckles, shaking his head as his thumb swipes at the tear curving her cheek. "If I die for you, it won't be until I kill for you. I won't let her claim the throne. I won't." He's speaking of Daenerys, their last and final enemy. He would spill her Targaryen blood across the Iron Throne if it meant protecting Sansa and their family. He would kill even a crowned queen if it meant protecting all of Westeros from the tyrant she truly was. "I would do anything for you." He would kill, he would die, he would live, all for her.

It was always for her, it had always been for her.

[ x x x ]

When he stands face to face with Daenerys, he can only think of her. He thinks of her red hair falling through his fingers like silk. He thinks of her sapphire eyes, cut like steel. He thinks of her soft, warm skin when it's pressed against his own. Nothing would take that away from him. Nothing.

And so he plunges the blade into the dragon queen's heart, spilling her blood across the ash covered floor.


	72. Chapter 72 - Jon Pardoned

Standing on the dock, Sansa can only smile as Jon approaches, caught between two of the Unsullied. Soon, they too would board their boat and sail away to wherever it was they wished to go next. Sansa and Bran had already discussed the potential danger of allowing such a piece of a powerful army to just walk away, but Bran had insisted he would keep watch over them until they proved untrustworthy. And so Sansa would go along with such a thing for now and could only hope that their decision would not be regretted sometime down the line. But... Now was not a time to worry about the Unsullied.

She listens to Jon as he kneels before Bran, speaking to him like a subject rather than a brother. It is Bran who gestures for him to rise up and they embrace, like the brother's they had always been. Arya comes next and she mentions how she does not plan to return to Winterfell, surprising even Sansa. There is a pang of sorrow in her heart at knowing their pack is to be torn apart yet again, even if it was only temporarily.

And then... It's her turn.

Jon steps up as if he means to kneel to her as well, though a hand against his keeps him upright. They both can feel the static electricity that rushes through their veins at even the simple touch. "Sansa..." He begins with a shake of his head, knowing there were so many things he wanted to say to her. He wishes they were alone for this moment.

"I'm sorry," she cuts in, her hand giving his the smallest of squeezes, reminding him that she's not yet let him go. "For telling Tyrion... I only..." She's silenced as Jon suddenly tugs her into an embrace, his hands coming around her, pressing against her back. She holds him just as tightly, burying her face into his shoulder as he whispers three soft little words against the shell of her ear: _I love you. _Three little words meant only for her.

As they draw back, Jon takes a step back as if he means to go, he knows his ship is waiting for him. "Jon, wait," she says, catching his hand once again, keeping him there. "I have something for you," she goes on, fishing in her pocket for a tightly rolled scroll. She hands it to him and watches as he begins to read, amusement dancing in her eyes as his face begins to change.

"I don't understand," is all he can say when he looks up, sparing a single glance at the other two, both who nod. "I don't understand," he says again when his dark Stark eyes fall upon her Tully blue.

"You didn't truly think I would allow you to be sent off to the Wall, did you?" She asks with a smile. "That the North would allow you to be punished for a crime you did not commit?" There was no one in most of Westeros that would call Jon a criminal for what he had done, but rather a hero, rather the one true King of the Iron Throne. Especially those in the North. They would go to war again before they allowed Jon Snow to live apart from them. "We're taking you home."

And sure enough when Jon glances behind them, the two Unsullied soldiers have disappeared down the dock, leaving their post as his guards. When he turns back around, his face feels like it might split with the smile it holds. After everything that has happened, after everything he's gone through and put them through... They're taking him home.

_She's _taking him home.

[ x x x ]

It's hours later and she sleeps soundly beside him in the bed, red hair spread out beneath her head like a crown. He smiles, recalling the way the ends of her hair had trailed across his bare chest when she had hovered above him. Sliding out from beneath the blankets, Jon tugs his breeches back on and comes to stand at the table where earlier that day he'd tossed down a rucksack and the letter she'd handed him out on the dock. He picks it up and by candlelight, reads the words she'd written down:

_Queen Sansa Stark, first of her name, the Queen in the North, does hereby pardon Jon Snow of all crimes comitted in the war for the Iron Throne. From this day on, he will be known as Jon Stark, a true born son of the Stark name through his mother, Lyanna Stark. _

He turns back then, to face where she lays asleep in his bed, and smiles. His heart is full, overflowing, and he doesn't know quite how he'll ever repay her. She had laughed earlier that day when he'd voiced the very same concern, whispering that if he only held her as he had been, they were quite even. He returns to the bed and slips back beneath the furs, reaching for her warm, slim body, drawing her close as he can. She murmurs in her sleep but does not wake, rather she shifts closer to him, one arm outstetching across his hip, face snuggling closer into his neck. Jon presses a kiss to her temple and closes his eyes, knowing well he was already home.

Home was more than just the North, more than just Winterfell. Home wherever she was, home was Sansa.


	73. Chapter 73 - Keep Your Crown On

When the chamber door opens, Jon's breath catches in his throat. He turns from where he stands before the hearth, the fire casting light and warmth into the room. She has come to the room alone, banishing even Brienne from her for this moment. "Sansa..." He murmurs her name as she approaches, still yet fully dressed in her dark gray and black gown, her crown of direwolves perched perfectly against her brow. Her red hair falls down her back like a waterfall, a sharp contrast to the black metal of her crown. "My queen," he goes on to softly say, reaching for her hand when she's come close enough, drawing it to his mouth for a quick kiss. He's longed to say two such words to her, in truth.

Her laughter fills the room but she does not pull her hand away. "My king," she responds, her sapphire eyes sparkling in the firelight. That's right, Jon's been so distracted by her beauty he's nearly forgotten they've come to call him King today. And more than that... "My _husband," _she speaks with an emphasis on the word that's truly important. That's right, they married that morning in the godswood as dawn broke along the horizon. He would never forget the sight of her glowing in the morning sun, wrapped in white furs, her red hair braided in the most elaborate of ways. When they met again at the start of the feast, she'd unbound her hair and set her crown upon her head, striking awe in all of the room that day when she herself settled Jon's crown upon his head, crowning him her king.

Jon reaches for her then, snaking his arms around her, one palm pressing into the small of her back, the other threading through her long red hair. "Wife," he greets simply, though his lips curve with a smile a moment before he kisses her. It's a strong and true kiss, one that ignites a fire within her bones, one that steals the very breath from her lungs. They've been waiting for this moment for so long... Always teetering on the edge of betraying what was right for what they felt. He recalls the first and only time he'd kissed her- the night before leaving for King's Landing with Daenerys. _Just in case, _he had whispered to her that night before he had kissed her in these very same chambers. "Turn around," his voice ghosts across her skin as his lips trail her jaw, his hand tugging her hair just enough to expose the soft skin of her throat to him. He sinks his teeth into her milky white flesh and the sound that escapes her sends heat deep into his loins. A moment later she's turning her back to him, drawing her red hair across a shoulder, giving him access to the laces at the back of her gown. He unlaces them slowly, taunting both her and himself with the pace, but the payoff is worth it. As the gown slips from her shoulders she's turning back around, letting it slide from her body in the most delicious sort of ways.

The moment its at her ankles, he's surging her forward in just her chemise, propelling her towards the bed as she lets out a twinkling laugh. "Jon, my crown," she reminds him as he tears her chemise away, his mouth barely leaving hers long enough to give her a chance to speak. Her chest heaves with every breath as his kiss intensifies, his wandering hands only coming to stop at her hips, fingers squeezing as tightly as he dared.

It's his turn to chuckle as he gives her a single push back onto the bed, drawing his shirt off over his head a moment before he's kneeling on the bed before her. "You can leave that on," his voice is thick with arousal and it's her hands on him then, her nimble fingers unlacing his breeches before he can say another word. Jon leans over her then and captures her mouth with another kiss, this time groaning into it as he feels her warm grip taking hold of him. When he opens his eyes, he finds himself already staring into her sapphire gaze, her lips curving with a smile when he breaks the kiss. "My queen," he whispers for the second time that night, though in a tone quite unlike the one from before. "I am yours to command."

The look she gives him sends chills down his spine and he wonders if she even knows the hold she has upon him. "Love me," she commands softly and to that, Jon can easily oblige.


	74. Chapter 74 - Atop the Wall

Last night, he had dreamed of Sansa.

He had dreamed of her long red hair, how soft it was, how easily it slipped between his fingers. He had dreamed of her eyes, eyes as blue as the the sky when the first dusting of stars began to shine each night. He had dreamed of her voice, just a whisper of silk in the darkness of his rooms that first night they spent together. Of course, he had woken yet again only to feel the stabbing pain that was the loss of her. Every morning he agonized over being away from her, from missing her with his entire being. No matter how he tried, he knew he would never untangle her from him, she was an imprint upon his heart. Not that he wanted to.

If nothing else, he had the thought of her. If nothing else, he knows that she lives safely in Winterfell, the crowned Queen in the North. If dreams and thoughts are all he has left of her, but she lives, then he must be happy. He must be happy that she's alive and she's well, even if they must live apart. He does not deserve to stand at her side, not after all he's done. And standing up here, he feels the closest to her. He knows she would have loved this cold, lonely place. She would have filled it with her warmth and her light, without even knowing she did it. And she would have thought it magical, standing there at the top of the world, snow all around her. She would stand in awe of the way the sun rose high into the sky, she would stand in amazement at just how far one could see from the very top...

"My lord?"

He turns at the sound of the timid voice, only to find that a young boy of maybe twelve stands before him. Jon doesn't recognize him, but he remembers then that four new recruits for the Night's Watch had arrived several days before, just a few weeks into his own return to the black. "I'm not a lord," Jon replies at once, instantly regretting his tone of voice when he sees the boy flinch. "What is it?" He pushes on, gentling his tone and offering the boy a wane smile, a peace offering for his previous rebuke.

"There was a rider at the gate, a visitor for you." The boy replies, his voice a little stronger now. His black cloak is at least a size too large for his small frame and Jon recalls his own first days at Castle Black, when he had been an angry, lost boy just barely older than this one. _A visitor?_ He wonders to himself, taking a single step forwards, as if he means to head towards the stairs just behind where the boy stands. "They are coming up here," the boy goes on, surprising Jon even more than knowing a visitor has come to call. He can't begin to imagine who it would be until he shifts his gaze towards the stairs and sees for the first time the figure that is climbing them.

Though her cloaks hood is pulled up over her hair, Jon knows it's her. He would know her pace, her build, _her_, anywhere. Jon glances down at the boy then, who's face suddenly lights up with a grin and he tugs back his cloak to show off the direwolf that's pinned above his heart. Now, Jon begins to understand.

"Thank you, Cedric," Sansa's vocals are soft, almost lyrical and Jon swears he can feel his heart cease beating. The boy steps just to the side, enough so Sansa can come to stand where he once did, and gives a quick bow before he turns and heads back towards the stairs, leaving his queen alone with this man named Jon Snow. She's smiling as she tugs her hood back, revealing to him that red hair of hers, worn in loose braids just barely pinned together at the back of her head. "Hello, Jon." She greets, her smile widening, her cheeks two blooms of color.

He can't think, let alone speak.

Jon cannot believe that she stands there in front of him, he doesn't dare to believe it in truth. "S-Sansa..." His frozen lips speak the name that's always on his heart, on his mind, and at once he's falling to his knee before her. "My queen," he says with more feeling than he's felt in weeks. He hears her laugh a moment later and he raises his gaze up to meet hers a moment before she's sinking to the ground in front of him. It's with a slightly shaking hand that Jon reaches for her then, trailing his fingertips across her jaw, leaving fire in their wake. "I can't believe you're here," he finally whispers, thumb swiping across her bottom lip before he cups her face into his palm. "Why are you here?"

"I bid you to come home two months ago," she says sharply, though her sapphire eyes are soft and shining. "You dared to ignore a command from your queen, so your queen has come to you." She dissolves into giggles and at once, Jon feels something warm rushing through his entire being. "Come home Jon, please," she sobers then, her own hand reaching out to gently touch his cheek. "I can't be without you any longer."

When she looks at him this way, she's hard to deny. Almost. "I don't deserve to stand beside you." He says with a shake of his head, moving back to stand up. She rises up too, ignoring the hand he offers her, those once soft eyes now sharp and narrowed. "I am a war criminal."

"You are a hero," she spits back, venom in her tone. "You saved the entire realm from a tyrant queen, it is you that should sit upon the Iron Throne," she goes on, reaching for his hand to draw him back towards her when he tries to turn away. "But your brother has graciously taken it from you, because he knew it was not what you wanted." Their eyes meet and her gaze softens, though her tone is torn between frustration and love. "You helped me win back Winterfell, it is your home as much as it is mine. The North wants their King back."

Jon smiles, shaking his head. "They already have their queen."

Sansa tightens her grip on his hand a moment before she's speaking yet again. "And their queen wants _her_ king." Jon blinks, understanding her meaning only a moment later. The breath catches in his throat, his heart skipping a beat as their eyes meet. "Please, Jon... Please, come home with me." For the first time, he can see the tears that gather on her lashes, a testament to the whirlwind of emotions rushing through her.

Standing there, staring into her tear-filled blue eyes, Jon knows he cannot deny her. Not now, not ever. She's all he's ever wanted and now she's come all this way to tell him that she wants him too. And though he knows he doesn't quite deserve her, he knows he would do anything to make her happy.

Even going back home.

And so he gives her one single nod before he pulls her into his arms, relishing in the feel of the warmth of her against him. He holds onto her there at the top of the wall, the snow beginning to fall all around them, the winter sun rising high into the sky above. When he draws back, her eyes are wet with tears, but her mouth is curving with the most radiant of smiles. "Say it," she softly pleads and for once, Jon can smile a true smile.

"Take me home."


	75. Chapter 75 - More Wedding Angst

There are only two people unhappy the day the Queen in the North marries.

One of them is the queen herself, the other, well... He stands in an empty corridor, just trying to calm his racing heart. He isn't even sure why he's come other than he must love to torture himself. It's been a long three years since his return to the North, banished to the wall for his crimes against the realm. He's not been back to Winterfell since that day so long ago when he had left for King's Landing to fight for a queen he thought undeserving of any title at all. Back then, he thought he knew what he was doing, turns out he hadn't known anything at all.

"Jon?"

He turns at the sound of a surprised voice; it's her standing there, still clad in her white and gold wedding gown, her long red hair cascading down her back in soft waves. Behind her a maid he doesn't know stands, a woman with fierce dark eyes that dare him to speak out of turn. A fleeting feeling of happiness rushes through him- this woman loves Sansa dearly and he's happy she has someone like that beside her. "It's alright, Shae." Sansa's voice is quiet, a thread, and she urges the maid to go on ahead of her. For several long moments they stand facing one another, neither certain of what to say, neither certain there's even any words to say anyways. But suddenly she's sighing, gesturing for him to step inside the room nearest to where they stand- a guest room of some kind, fit for any of the Lords visiting for the wedding. It must be empty though, for he notes the cold, dark hearth. "What are you doing here?" She asks, arms folding over her chest, sapphire eyes holding fast to his dark-eyed gaze.

Caught in the moment, Jon at first cannot find his voice. She's angry and he doesn't blame him. "I heard you were getting married," he says after a long pause, all of the air leaving his lungs in one single breath. _I heard you were getting married and I wanted to stop you. _The unspoken words settle between them and he hears her breath catch. "Can't a man be here when his sister gets married?"

Sansa blinks, finally breaking her steady gaze, mouth trembling as she fights to reclaim control of her emotions. "You aren't my brother," she says without hesitation, though her voice is quiet. _You should be who I'm marrying, _she thinks for the tenth time that night, tears burning in her eyes. "You shouldn't have come," she goes on, softer still, bringing her gaze back to his.

"Sansa, I..."

"It should have been you!" She bursts out, cutting him off without warning, hand flailing as she took a single step closer. "I wanted it to be you," she whispers as the dam breaks and tears fall down her rosy cheeks. She hates herself for the tears she cannot hold back and she hates him for causing them. Three long years she's waited for him to return to him- letter after letter she's sent to him, forgiving him of his supposed crimes, all ignored. She's waited and waited for him to see the light, to forgive himself for whatever it was he thought himself to be guilty of... But she couldn't wait forever. She had a kingdom to care for, a realm of her own to worry about. She had to have heirs, she had to keep the North safe. She would have waited forever for him, if only the North would not have suffered for it.

And so she entertained royal men, loyal men, and rich men, too. She visited foreign nations and even went to Dorne and to High Garden. She spent as much time away from the North as she spent there, it felt like, especially in the last year. In the end, the Prince of Dorne had made the best offer- she could remain in Winterfell for as long as she pleased and her husband would come to her as often as he pleased. The North would have the strength of the new Dorne army and a young, viral king that would give both nations the heirs they needed. It was not her first choice, but her happiness in marriage mattered little when it came to the safety of her home. She was a queen now and like a queen she would have to behave.

"My husband is waiting," she says then, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out. She pushes past him, their shoulders knocking in her haste to rush by him. He hears her footsteps fall silent just before the door. "You are welcome to stay another night, but in the morning... Please go." The door swings shut before he can even turn around and it's all Jon can do not to sink to the floor in his misery. But she is right, it should have been him. It should have been him she married, it should have been him she called husband. But he had hid in Castle Black for three long years, feeling unworthy to even stand before her, let alone beside her.

It's long after she's gone that Jon finally finds the ability to move; he thinks for a moment he might pack his bag and return to the wall, but something tells him to stay this one last night in his home. One last night sleeping beneath the same roof as her. As he crawls into his bed, he hears Ghost howling somewhere in the distance, unaware that in her own room, Sansa hears it too.

Jon closes his eyes and she's the only thing on his mind as he slowly drifts off to sleep.


	76. Chapter 76 - Running with Wolves

When he dreams, it's of wolves and her.

She's there in the godswood, red hair dancing around her, a pack of wolf pups at her feet. The lightest dusting of snow falls upon her clothes, her hair, and she shines with it. He always wakes feeling warm and strong, as if he could win any battle, as if he could achieve any goal. But the feeling always fades as he turns over and finds himself alone in his bed, remembering only then that she is far, far from where he is now.

But he dreams of her still and he supposes he'll hold onto that if nothing else.

The morning sun has not yet risen into the sky when Jon pulls himself from his bed, shivering into his clothes before the cold hearth. As he swings his fur cloak over his shoulders, he's reminded of her yet again, for this cloak she had made with her own two hands for him. He brushes his fingers along the imprint of the wolves upon the worn leather, smiling to himself when recalls how she had smiled upon him that day she'd given it to him. He would have given anything to see her smile like that back then, when she was still so freshly wounded from her time with Ramsay Bolton. Back then, her smiles had been rare, but that one... That one smile she had given him that day was as radiant as the winter sun.

He does the best he can, pushing the thought of her from his mind as he descends the stairs and down to the main hall. The castle is quiet, dark, and cold... As always. He steps into the great hall and lights the fire in the hearth, so when the others begin to come down, they will find the room warm and waiting for them. And then he tugs his cloak tighter around himself and steps out into the morning haze, his line of sight falling upon the sun that's just begun to rise above the horizon line. He takes to the steps, another reminder of Sansa and when she had come to him here at Castle Black so many moons ago. It feels like another lifetime ago, in truth. He makes his way towards the stables as a howl sounds somewhere in the distance; he realizes then that it's been several days now since he's last seen Ghost.

Not that it surprises him much, the wolf disappears and reappears as he pleases, but this time... Jon stops, turning the corner of the stable to where his own horse is kept. But rather than prepare the horse, he turns back and heads out into the side yard. He can't really say what it is that leads him this way, other than the call of Ghost himself. Jon cuts behind the stable and steps out towards the edge of the forest, the wide expanse of trees calling out to him, beckoning him on. Ghost lets out another howl, this one closer still, and Jon breaks through the treeline, intent on finding his wolf. "Ghost?" He calls out to the wolf, dark eyes searching for any sign of the wolf, worry seeping into his chest.

It's a moment later that he catches sight of Ghost, his red eyes glowing in the growing morning light that bleeds in through the snow covered treetops. "Ghost..." He murmurs as the sight of a cloaked figure breaks through the haze. At once, his hand strays to his hip where Longclaw is strapped, but it falls away when he hears the soft call of a voice. It's like a ghost, like a haunting melody, and yet it brings him to life yet again.

"Jon..."

She's standing there in front of him then, draped in furs, though she lowers the hood of her cloak as Ghost gives an excited sounding bark from where he now sits at her feet. "I... I don't believe this," Jon says with a shake of his head, convinced that he must be dreaming. There's no way that she's come all this way, there's no way that she stands before him now. "Are you... Real?" He questions softly, reaching out a hand to touch her cheek; her skin is cold beneath his touch, but her mouth curves with a smile. "You are," he breathes, relief rushing through him a moment before he opens his arms to her. She's the only thing that's ever felt real, the only thing that's ever made any sense at all.

He cannot let her go, he cannot bring himself to once again feel what it felt like without her in his arms. She radiates heat, though she's cold to the touch, laughing that she became lost from her guard only a few hours earlier." I thought I was lost forever..." She says as she pulls back from his embrace, though her arms are now slung around his hips. "Until Ghost came along, that is." She removes one hand from his waist only to touch Ghost's head, running her hand from his nose to behind his neck. "I've been running with the wolves to get to you," she says with a short chuckle as she raises her gaze back to meet with his. It hadn't been just Ghost that led her back to Jon- no, she knew Lady had been there, running alongside with her until she was out of breath. Nymeria had howled in the distance and Summer had responded. Shaggydog ran in circles around her and up ahead, just out of sight, Grey Wind had kept watch. The ghosts of her pack were always around her, Robb and Rickon, they were always there. And Arya and Bran, though not lost to her in this world, they were apart, and she missed them so.

But Jon... Jon was not lost to her. He was right there.

And so she buries her face into the crook of his shoulder and just breathes him in. They're together again, two wolves reunited.


	77. Chapter 77 - Generations

Looking at the portrait was like looking into a mirror.

The same clear blue eyes, the same long red hair, even the ivory painted skin was the same shade as hers. Beneath the portrait was a small gold plaque that read: _Sansa Stark, the Queen in the North; the red wolf, the queen that never bent. _

"Beautiful wasn't she?"

At the sound of the voice she turns and smiles when she sees her father. "Yes. Who was she?" She turns back to face the painting as her father comes up to stand beside her, also staring into the portrait, noting the striking similarities between it and his teenage daughter. Down the hall, his other two children stand with their mother, the younger of the two another daughter with violet-blue eyes and long silvery hair, proof of the lineage she comes from. His son, the middle child, has the same unruly dark hair and solemn gray eyes that he knows he himself holds. The Stark genes are strong, even generations later. The Targaryen ones too, though the name has gone away with history, the genes still shine through every so often. It's true, his family looks quite mismatched on the outside, but they are a family from a name that once ruled all of Westeros.

"Your great, great, great, great grandmother," he replies with a grin down at his oldest child, her clear blue eyes shining as they gaze at the portrait. "The first Queen in the North, she married her cousin Jon Snow, the true born son of Rhaegar Targaryen." Of course, all of his children knew the family story well, though he'd hesitated to bring them here to the birthplace of their family. It had been many years since anyone at all occupied Winterfell, though the home was theirs to live in if they wanted. He wanted his children to grow up to live a normal life- the North remained it's own, independent nation, ruled by a new generation born from the children of the marriage of this woman who's portrait they gazed upon. It was her fight for the North that led it to be the prosperous place that it was today.

"So it wasn't just a story?" His daughter asks, turning to glance at him with that skeptical look only a teenager could convey. "It was all real?" The story of this queen was a long time bedside story from her father, a story and nothing more... Or so she had always believed. The story of this Sansa Stark had always been her favorite as a child, but she had never thought much of it to be true. Certainly she had existed, history told her as much, but she never had believed everything her father had told her to be truth. "Wow," she breathes when her father nods with a grin, turning back to once again look into those blue eyes, amazed that someone from so long ago could look so very much like herself.

"A true story," he says as he slings his arm around her shoulders, guiding her down the long hall, where portrait after portrait hangs in the hall, all of the various kings and queens the North has had. They stop finally at the last one, of their most current king, a man with solemn Stark eyes and a touch of the Targaryen colored hair, a man they called uncle when they saw him privately. All these years, the North had known no king or queen that was not named Stark, just as their first queen had vowed.


	78. Chapter 78 - Jon Wargs

He's thought of her today, all day in fact. He's thought of her so very much that others have noticed- he'd been caught off guard twice by Daenerys alone, so lost in his thoughts of her he'd been. She comes easily, in both his waking thoughts and his late night dreams. That fire kissed hair... The feel of it still haunts his hands. Those pure blue eyes... He still could drown in them, despite the time it's been since he's last looked into them. She's like an imprint upon his soul, a part of him now.

As he finally closes the door to his chambers, Jon can do little else but sigh in relief, the feeling of being behind a closed door overwhelming. It's here in his rooms that he is free, though still yet trapped upon Dragonstone, here in his rooms he is free from prying eyes. He is free from _her._

The dragon queen is a foe like he's never before encountered. With her soft, white features, she is like the most perfect of dolls. But then she opens her mouth and it is like a dragon personified. She snaps her jaws and those around her cower in fear masked with loyalty. She speaks and they fall at her feet in adoration tainted with misery. Daenerys Targaryen is certainly unlike any woman he's ever met before and it makes him miss Sansa all the more. Where Daenerys is soft, Sansa is steel; where Daenerys is silver, Sansa is gold; where Daenerys is fire, Sansa is ice. He misses her and her sharp edges, he misses the warmth in her sapphire eyes. He misses her.

Sinking down onto the edge of his bed, Jon realizes he cannot go without seeing her.

It's been so long that he's linked with Ghost, he thinks for a moment it won't work. But it's only a few moments after he closes his eyes that he realizes he's merged his mind with the wolf's. He opens his eyes, but it is Ghost that is seeing now, and Jon can tell at once he's within her bed chambers. She's pacing the floor before the hearth, her black skirts sweeping across the rushes, red hair undone from its usual braids. _Sansa... _He thinks, sitting up, Ghost's tail giving a thump against the floor.

As if she hears him, Sansa pauses in her pacing and turns to face where Ghost sits at the side of her bed. For a moment she regards him and Jon can feel the intensity of her gaze, wishing with all of his heart that it was truly him she was looking at. Sansa crosses the room then, sinking down into a pile of black skirts only to wind her arms around Ghost's massive, shaggy neck. Jon can feel the warmth of her embrace, can feel the strength behind it even in his own body. He never wants her to let go. "What should I do, Ghost?" She whispers into his fur, her words strained with unspoken pain. "I wish Jon were here," her voice is softer still, a thread, a wisp of smoke. Jon's heart breaks, knowing there is something she's facing there and she's all alone. He's not there to offer her the strength she so clearly needs.

He can do nothing but nuzzle her close, pressing Ghost's wet nose into her neck, relishing in the softness of her laughter as she holds him a little bit closer. For a little while longer he stays linked to Ghost, to her, and it isn't until a maid comes into her room that he returns to his own body. He sits quietly there on his bed, thinking back to the sorrow twinged voice she had spoken in, thinking back to the way she had pressed herself into Ghost as if she had needed an anchor. She needed him and he was here, locked away by a woman who called herself queen. She needed him and he wasn't there. But that was it, wasn't it? He had to get to her. He had to get home.

And so he would, no matter the cost.


	79. Chapter 79 - Freckles

In the firelight, she's like a dream come to life.

It reflects off her fire kissed hair, which spills over the side of the bed, a waterfall of color richer than any sunset. In the golden glow of the fire, she is like a goddess, her entire body dusted with the lightest touch of gold flecks. He recalls from childhood when she would scrub them furiously with milk, when she would try to hide each and every freckle from view. He can't keep himself from running his hands along the length of her slim frame, fingers grazing her every inch until they come to a rest at her hips. There was little else he wanted to do besides kiss every freckle upon her ivory skin. "Mmm..." She wakes from her light slumber, body shifting beneath his touch. "I thought you said you were tired?" Her voice is groggy and she doesn't lift even an eyelid to look at him, though her lips curve with the smallest of smiles.

"I was only admiring your freckles." He says when his mouth is on her throat, brushing the most tender of kisses against her soft skin. A moment later, Jon can feel her palm running the length of his spine, the other sliding into his wild curls, keeping his face against the curve of her neck and shoulder.

When she loosens her grip upon him, he raises himself up so he might look down at her there in his bed. Still yet bathed in the light of the fire, she's like something other worldly, something so perfect that he dares not believe she is real. There are no words to describe the depth of his feelings for her, this woman he does not deserve and yet somehow still holds each and every night. Jon leans in and captures her mouth with his, a long, lingering kiss that fills her to the brim with warmth. "I love you," he murmurs when he breaks the kiss, though his mouth presses tiny kisses against her jaw line, further down until his mouth caresses her collarbone, one hand on her hip, the other on a breast. He kisses from her collarbone to her left shoulder, lips sweeping over every single scar, every single freckle, the feel of her beneath him better than anything else.

He would stay there forever, if she'd allow it. And something told him, she would.


	80. Chapter 80 - Dany Doesnt Destroy KL

The morning is cold and the wind is biting as she steps out into the courtyard.

Winterfell is eeriely quiet for a castle that is supposed to be preparing to leave for a war and as Daenerys glances around, she notes there is almost nobody about. She's just about to turn to return inside when she catches sight of Jon; he's coming down the stairs from the battlements, Sansa right behind him. From within Winterfell, the youngest of the Stark girls comes, her ever present frown hiding a smirk as she approaches.

It takes her only a moment to realize something is wrong.

"Jon, are the armies prepared?" She adopts her usual tone, violet eyes narrowing as they fall upon the man she thought loved her. Jon stands before her and Sansa hovers close beside him, her red hair a vibrant contrast to the black furs draped across her shoulders. "You are to leave for King's Landing, do not forget what you promised to me." She goes on, flicking her gaze to the Lady of Winterfell, a reminder of who controls the situation. But, as always, Sansa Stark does not falter, but rather smiles. Beside her, the younger sister's hand strays to her sword's hilt and for the first time, Daenerys feels a flicker of fear.

"We must talk before departing," Jon says casually, gesturing for Daenerys to return inside Winterfell. For a moment, she thinks she might not, but remembers that _she_ is queen and she is a dragon, so there is nothing to fear.

The small group files back into Winterfell and down the hall towards the great hall, where Sansa's woman knight stands outside the door. Brienne of Tarth barely spares her a glance before she opens the door for their group, coming inside after them and letting it swing closed behind her. As soon as Daenerys steps into the room, she knows trouble is brewing. The northern lords that remained alive after the long night stand at the back wall, silent and stone faced. Missandei stands off to one side of the room, her expression solemn and never changing even when they meet gazes. Grey Worm stands behind the head table, which Sansa and Jon have seated themselves, leaving Daenerys to stand there before them. It's only then that she notices the shackles at his wrists. "What is the meaning of this-" 

"You stand accused of war crimes against the realm you claim to rule, this man willingly participated and has been treated as any war criminal would." Sansa Stark does not hesitate to speak and those sapphire blue eyes fall upon her own, sending chills down her spine. "Do not think I won't have you placed into chains, as well."

"How dare you," Daenerys seethes, white hot rage surging through her. "I am your queen, you dare speak to me this way? I have been quite tolerant of your behavior Lady Stark, but I will not stand for this." She cannot believe this girl dares to defy her in such a way. She cannot believe Jon has condoned it. Daenerys turns her eyes to Jon and his expression is unreadable, that solemn look in his Stark colored eyes mimicked in the girl that stands over his shoulder. "I am your queen," she says again, as if this is enough.

"You are not," says the monotone voice of the wheelchair bound boy that sits to Jon's other side. Daenerys had not even noticed his presence until now, until he spoke aloud. She pins him with her gaze and like his older sister, Bran Stark does not waver.

"What did you say?" Daenerys spits out through gritted teeth, her heart races faster than ever before.

"You are not the true heir to the Iron Throne," Bran goes on in that same tone, his hands folding atop the table. "But you already knew that." He's right, she's known that since the night Jon had told her. "The Iron Throne is not yours to take."

"It is a queen's duty to protect her realm, you have not done that." Sansa intones, bringing Daenerys' attention back to her, rather than Bran. "Your duty is to us, to your people, but you would subject us to death all to lay claim to a throne you do not deserve." She tilts her head, red hair falling across a shoulder as her lips curve with a faint smirk. "A queen should choose love, but you chose fear." Daenerys recalls those words she had said to Jon only nights before, words he'd in turn spoken to Sansa. "The North cannot allow you to lay siege to King's Landing, nor claim the throne." Sansa is speaking again, bring Daenerys back from her whirling thoughts. "You will be taken to King's Landing as a prisoner of the North and we will negotiate with Cersei Lannister over what to do with you." There was only one person in that room that would know what would happen to Cersei Lannister in the coming weeks, long before they could arrive with their Targaryen prisoner, but now was not the time to speak of it. "Take her to her rooms," Sansa speaks sharply, nodding to the two guards that stand against the opposite wall, waiting for her word. "There you will stay until we leave for King's Landing."

Daenerys looks back only once, but they've already all turned their backs to her and she knows she's lost.

[ x x x ]

When they arrive in King's Landing, it's quiet.

The city has plunged into mourning for their late queen, though there's few that truly mourn the loss of Cersei Lannister. She's buried alongside her children and the people await the news of who will take the throne next.

It doesn't take long for the rumors begin to flow; whispers of a true born Targaryen son, a dragon born with the blood of a wolf, filter through the city within days of their arrival. The people of Westeros recall what it was like to live beneath the rule of a Targaryen, but this Targaryen son is quite unlike those who came before him. And there were of course the whispers about the red wolf, the she wolf of Winterfell, come back to King's Landing after all these years. Whispers told these people that their next ruler would not be one, but two, a ruling couple born of dragons and wolves.

And one half of that duo took to the stairs, following the corridors until she came to a room with a single guard posted at the door. The man gave a single nod to the young woman, knowing well that within the coming weeks he would more than likely be referring to her as queen.

Sansa pushes open the door and steps inside, allowing it to swing closed behind her.

Daenerys stands at the window, looking out across King's Landing, the view quite pretty this time of day. "Am I to call you _your grace_, now?" Her voice is lacking its usual tone and Sansa shakes her head only once the silver-haired woman turns around. "Where are my dragons?" She asks, the thought of her children the only thing able to still yet squeeze the breath from her lungs.

"They are safe." Sansa replies, though she knows there is little way to tame Drogon. Rhaegal is Jon's, but Drogon is a constant worry. "Drogon was seen flyng East only days ago and Rhaegal is here, with Jon." In truth, the dragon was down in the dragon pits most days- he was well behaved, for a dragon she supposed. "I have come to tell you there will be no trial for you." Daenerys looks up then, something like fear flickering across her features. "You are to be sent back to Dragonstone. You will be kept by guards of our own choosing. You will be closely monitored at all times." They have discussed her fate at length and in the end, no matter what she had done, Sansa couldn't let them execute her. Besides, in the case of Drogon... They needed her alive. "You will have no army, no dragons. Grey Worm will remain here and Missandei will stay at your side." Daenerys can't help but to feel a rush of relief at those words. "You will never be queen, but you will live."

She supposes she'll have to live with that.


	81. Chapter 81 - Boat Bang 20

As Jon takes to the steps down to his cabin, he's decided to remain there for the entire voyage back North. He cares little for the sea air and would rather remain below deck where he can wallow in his misery alone. She's there on his mind, imprinted upon his heart, his soul; even now, minutes later, he can feel her arms around him. He would have given anything to remain by her side, to return _home_ with her. But he's to return to the wall, to Castle Black, punishment for his crimes against the realm. Though most would call such a punishment unfair, Jon saw it as necessary. He didn't deserve to return home, not after what he had done. And though it pained him more than anything else ever had, he knew he was not worthy to stand at her side.

And so he opens the door to his cabin, fully prepared to strip from his heavy furs and climb into his bunk and just sleep. He's so tired... So very tired. But the moment he steps into his room, he realizes he's not alone.

He can't believe it, he dares not believe it, not even when he hears her softly speak his name. She's there on the edge of his bed, rising up as the door falls closed behind him, a smile curving on her lips. "Sansa..." He whispers as she comes closer to him, standing in the center of the small room. "How... What..." He cannot find the words to speak, he's so surprised to find her there in his room, it's almost like a dream. "I can't believe you're here..." He finally murmurs, blinking fast, realizing tears were threatening to spill from his eyes. "What are you doing here? I don't understand." He's finally found his voice and he asks the only thing he can think to ask. She isn't supposed to be here- she was to remain in King's Landing with Bran for a few weeks, returning to Winterfell when she was certain Bran was settled in his place as King. And yet... Here she was.

Sansa does not speak, but rather she closes the gap between them; she stands so close now that Jon can smell the rose water she washes in, though the lingering scent of sea salt clings to her hair. There are no words she can say, not right now, and she hopes he will understand her in a moment. It's then that she leans in, capturing his mouth with hers. The kiss is long and slow, but it takes only a moment for Jon to yield to it. She feels his arms come around her and he returns the kiss with a newly ignited sense of passion. "You didn't think I was going to truly let you return to the wall, did you?" She asks when she finally pulls back, though her mouth is still so close he can feel her lips curve with a smile. "I can't be without you, Jon." She admits softly, so softly that he thinks he's only imagined her words. But then she's kissing him again, this time with a renewed ardor that is quite unlike the first kiss.

For a long moment, Jon cannot think, cannot speak. But he understands now- she feels the same as he does, she always has. Her kiss tells him everything he needs to know. And so he kisses her back, tightening his hold on her waist as his tongue meets with hers. He can feel her hands at his chest, unclasping his cloak and letting it fall to the floor at their feet. One hand remains pressed against the small of her back, but the other trails up her spine until it slides into her long red hair. Her hands continue to make work of his layers of clothing, tugging his leather jerkin off and tossing it aside, her mouth never once wavering from his. "This way..." He murmurs a few moments later, though his mouth lingers near hers, lips pressing against the expanse of her jaw. He's tugging her towards the bed then, stopping only when his thighs bump into the edge of it. "Turn around," his voice is hoarse, his heart beat faster than it's ever been before. She does as he's bid and turns around, pulling her long red hair over a shoulder, exposing to him the laces that keep her dress together at the back. With shaking hands, he reaches for them and slowly begins to unlace the gown. As it begins to slide from her shoulders, she turns back around to face him, a new sort of smile falling into place on her face. He's certain he's never seen her more beautiful.

She shrugs the gown from her body and lets it drop to the ground, pooling around her ankles. Jon sucks in a breath, his eyes taking in the sight of her body beneath her thin shift, her every curve enticing him. "Say you'll come home with me," she whispers as Jon reaches for her, crushing her against him, relishing in the warmth of her skin against his. She could have asked him anything in that moment and he'd have obliged.

"Take me home." His voice is warm against the shell of her ear as his mouth brushes against her earlobe, teeth sinking into her soft flesh. He trails kisses down to her throat, careless of the bruises he leaves behind, one hand again sliding into her red hair. He's knocked her pins free and her hair tumbles from its braids, softer than silk in his hands. A moment later, he feels her hands on his chest, pushing him down onto the bed he stands before. Before she can climb on top of him, he's taking her by the hand and tugging her down beside him.

Suddenly, they are a tangle of limbs, every kiss igniting fire within their veins. His hands roam her body, her chemise the only thing separating skin from skin. Certain he can take no more, Jon grabs the hem of it and pulls it over her head, leaving her body bare to his gaze. She's as perfect as he had always thought she would be; her milky skin is soft to his every touch, her breasts small but the perfect fit for his palm. It takes only a moment for her to become aware of his arousal and he can feel her fingertips skimming across the length of him, his breeches uncomfortably tight. He lets go of her just long enough to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it aside just as her hands unlace his breeches.

The moment he feels her hands upon him, Jon sees stars; her touch is warm and gentle as she navigates this new moment, sensations running through her that she's never before experienced. Jon guides her hand into movement and it's moments later that he's groaning her name, pleasure rushing through him as her hand makes work of his cock. He can't take much more and it's only then that he's pushing her back, placing himself before her, one hand on each of her knees. With a gentle push, he's between her legs, one hand on her left knee while the other one slides up the soft expanse of her inner thigh. In the back of his mind, he reminds himself she's never done this before and vows to be gentle with her. He looks down and meets her gaze, the smile she gives him his enough to tell him exactly what she wants.

And so he slides inside of her, one hand still on her knee, the other gripping tightly to her hip, anchoring her to him. She's moaning beneath him then, arching her back to meet his first thrust, head thrown back as his name leaves her lips. Though he's slept with women before her, nothing could compare to what he felt right then. "Sansa!" He rasps her name as he leans over her, the hand once on her hip now placed to the side of her head. His mouth finds hers as he thrusts harder into her, every stroke sending waves of pleasure through him. She's hooking her legs around his hips then and the new angle must please her because she lets out a breathy cry that's almost enough to send him over the edge. But he pushes through, kissing her again as he grinds his pelvis into hers, knowing she was just as close to the end as he was.

Suddenly, Jon can feel her body clamping down upon him, her cry unlike anything he's ever heard before. It's all he needs- the sure sound of her pleasure is enough to end things for him and Jon spills his seed into her, pulling free a few moments later. Panting, he collapses onto the bed at her side, though he slings an arm across her, tugging her closer. She breathes as hard as he does and she turns her head to face him, a smile toying with her lips. "I've wanted that for a long time," she admits, color flushing her cheeks.

"So have I." He says softly, inclining his head to kiss her forehead. He can feel her hands on him again, stroking the length of him until he was solid in her grip. A soft moan escapes him as she sits upright, swinging her body over his, the very thought of what she was about to do arousing in the most delicious of ways.

It was as he'd thought earlier, he would remain in his cabin until he reached the North. But he would spend his time quite differently than he'd originally thought. And that was just fine.


	82. Chapter 82 - Post Argument

"Did you bend the knee to save the North... or because you love her?"

Her words are a thread, spoken in a voice he's never heard her use before. The firelight surrounds her, giving her a glow like a goddess of fire, but her eyes... Her eyes are that of an ice queen. Jon shudders as their gazes meet, knowing he would do anything to protect her.

Anything except cause her pain.

"You don't understand," he begins quietly, but she's shaking her head, a dull laugh escaping her frowning lips. It's then that she turns to go, to push past him, but he catches her by the wrist, pulling her back. She whirls around, red hair swinging, those same blue eyes dark and damp as they gaze at him. "I did it for you." He rasps as he tugs her into his embrace, uncaring that she fights against his grip. "I did it for you." He says again, as if this will make her understand, as if this will make her see.

But she pulls back then, full of a strength he's never seen in her before. "You did what for me, Jon? Give away my, _our_ home, to a foreign queen?" She's ablaze with her anger, red hot as it courses through her veins. "Was sleeping with her for me as well?" She hisses, the words escaping her mouth before she can stop them. Her breathing is labored, catching in her throat as his dark eyes close, as if suddenly he cannot look her in the face. "I knew it," she says softly, shaking her head. "You love her, this damned dragon queen."

Jon can't stand hearing her say such words.

And so he's reaching for her once again, this time his grip stronger than before. She rails against him, fists to his chest, leaving him to wonder if she knows that she's begun to cry. As she sinks into his embrace, the fight escaping her, Jon leans in and captures her mouth with his. He needs her to know, he needs her to understand him. The kiss is slow and true, a kiss that fills her up until she's overflowing. When he breaks it, it's only so he might look into her clear blue eyes, though her name is soft upon his lips.

It takes only a moment for her to kiss him, though her kiss is one of hunger, of desperation. Jon winds his arms around her waist as he kisses her back, a fire igniting in his loins, spreading warmth through his entire being. He pushes her back until she's against the table and even then he's unable to stop from hefting her up onto it's suface, breaking the kiss only so he can brush a kiss against her jaw, against her pulse beating in her throat. She's tugging at her skirts, pulling them up out of the way as Jon unlaces his breeches with his free hand, the other still yet pressed into the small of her back. "I did it for you," he says for the third time, feeling her hands sliding into his hair as he raises his face back to hers.

"Stop talking," she commands and Jon can't help but to smirk. A moment later, the last barrier between them is gone and he's inside of her, the force of his every thrust causing her to bite down on his shoulder to keep from crying out. There in her solar, anyone could walk in looking for them, they could be discovered at any moment. Perhaps that's what made it all the better.

When it's over, he steps back, adjusting his breeches as she slides down from the table, skirts rumpled and hair messy. "I'm still mad at you," she insists when she catches his eyes, but her swollen mouth and sapphire eyes tell him otherwise.

"Come be mad at me in my room," he speaks softly, earnestly, tilting his head to rest against hers, their mouths so close he can feel it when she smirks. "Let me make it up to you," he suggests and this time she laughs outright. Finally she nods, looping her arm through his, allowing him to lead her from the room and out into the hall. Together they make their way through the darkened corridors until they reach the door to his rooms. She goes in first and when the door closes behind him, she's in his arms once again.

It was as he said, he would make it up to her. Even if it took all night.


	83. Chapter 83 - Jon Realizing Feelings

The touch of her hand to his elbow has become quite usual.

If it's not a hand to his elbow, she's looping her arm through his, their shoulders always brushing. If it's not her, it's him tenderly brushing hair from her face, it's him turning to her only to find she's already looking at him. It has become normal to feel the soft touch of her hand in his or to hear her speaking his name in the silence of a room. In fact, Jon has begun to find himself lonely when she's not next to him.

On this particular morning, he's alone as he crosses the courtyard towards the stables. His mind has been a whirlwind since he woke, knowing every day that passes is another one closer to the arrival of the Night King. Soon, they won't have the luxury of time, for soon they will be tangled up in a war that means far more than who sits upon any throne. He thinks he might take a ride into the snowy forest, perhaps that will be enough to clear his mind of war and a pretty redhead, though as he enters the stables he finds it to already be occupied.

"You're up early, little crow," Tormund observes as he approaches, his grin as wild as his red hair. "But where is your pretty little sister? She is never far from that arm of yours." He gestures at his right arm, which sure enough feels empty without Sansa's hand upon it. Tormund, like a few others at Winterfell, knew there was something brewing beneath the surface of the half siblings relationship. Tormund knew most of society would turn up their noses at the thought of such a pairing, but if they made each other happy he didn't see why it mattered. Though, Tormund was quite certain neither the little crown or his pretty sister had any idea they cared so deeply for the other.

"Sleeping, I imagine." Jon replies, his defenses up though he doesn't quite know why. In truth, it had taken all of his self control not to peak into her room that morning, just to assure himself that she was alright. At least, that's what he told himself he wanted to do. Deep down, Jon probably knows that his feelings for Sansa transcend that of a brother, but propriety and societal pressure keeps him from admitting it to anyone, even himself.

"One might wonder if you wish you were sleeping in her bed," Tormund says with a wink, his comment surprising Jon to his core. Tormund must notice his expression change for he laughs, reaching out to clasp him upon the shoulder. "You two don't hide things well, you know." Jon arches a brow in question, shaking his head as if he doesn't understand what the other man is saying to him. Tormund can only laugh again, rolling his eyes as he steps around the younger man. "Think about how you feel when she touches you, little crow, that is your answer." He tosses the words over his shoulder, leaving Jon standing there in the stables, forgetting exactly what he was doing there.

It's a short while later that Jon finds himself walking down the main hall of Winterfell, coming around a corner only to see Sansa coming towards him. "Good morning," she greets with a smile, her blue eyes shining in the torchlight. "I've been looking for you," she goes on, looping her arm with his as she falls into step beside him. At the feel of her hand on his arm, Jon feels it, that warmth that always floods him when he feels her touch. It's then Tormund's words echo in the back of his mind _think about how you feel when she touches you, _words that in the moment hadn't made any sense at all. But now... Now, he's realizing. Now, he's understanding.

He loves her.


	84. Chapter 84 - Sansa Seducing 2

When his door creaks open in the dead of night, Jon already knows it's Sansa.

He knows the sound of her footsteps better than anyone else's, he knows the soft catch of her breath. "Can't sleep?" He asks when she approaches the side of his bed, Ghost stirring on the floor at her feet. Despite the darkness, he sees the shake of her head and a small smile curves on his lips. "Come on, then." He raises the blankets enough so she might climb into bed beside him. She slides into place against him, though she does not turn away as she normally would have, but rather faces him in the darkness of his room, her blue eyes gleaming in the dying light from the hearth. There's a look upon her face he's seen before, one they've yet to speak of, one that tells him everything he's wanted to know. "Sansa..." Her name is quiet on his lips and he's cut off before he can say another word. Her kiss is hungry, full of unspoken words, but proof of what they know they both feel. "Sansa!" He speaks stronger this time and once again he finds himself staring into her clear blue eyes.

"A king needs an heir," is all she says before she leans in again, capturing his mouth with hers. Jon shudders, the sinful feeling of lust rushing through him as he wraps one arm around her, drawing her lithe frame closer still. He's to leave for Dragonstone in the morning, to set sail for a place he might not come home from and he knows she doesn't want him to go. She said so herself that very morning. He returns her kiss with as much passion as he can muster, well aware that what they do is against nature, but it feels more right than anything else ever had. His hand slides into her hair as their tongues meet, his other palm pressed against the small of her back.

Their kissing intensifies and it isn't until he feels her hand against his hardened manhood that Jon stops, drawing back yet again. "We don't have to do this," he whispers, his hand slipping from her hair to cup her cheek into his palm. Sansa's smile is a glimmer in the darkness and suddenly she's on the move, pushing him over to lay on his back as she climbs over him, straddling his hips, knees on either side of him. Such an action is answer enough for him and so Jon pulls her down, his mouth finding hers before another moment can pass.

She feels his hands upon her body, covering every inch of her that he can; it takes only a few moments for him to find the edge of her nightgown and pull it up over her head. To his surprise, she's wearing nothing underneath and he groans against her mouth as a hand closes around a bare breast. "I want to bear your son," she whispers when he lets her mouth go for long enough and rather than kissing him again, she trails her lips down his jaw towards his throat. "I don't care if it's wrong." Her voice is warm against his skin and Jon traces his fingertips along the curve of her spine.

But, was love really ever wrong? Jon thinks if there is love, it can never be wrong, certainly not in a time of war and violence. Not when they have suffered in so many ways until finding each other. And so... Even if no one else understands, even if they try to keep them apart, Jon knows he will remain beside her. He wants this as much as she does.

That thought alone is enough to get him moving again; in one single movement, he's rolled them over so instead he is above her and she lays against his pillow. It is her hands that tug his breeches down, exposing him to her and Jon feels his breath catch the moment he's in her grasp. "I love you," he whispers and beneath him, she smiles, nodding as if she's known this all along. He presses his hand against her inner thigh, relishing in the feel of her soft, warm skin against his palm. Further and further his hand slides and she's writhing beneath his touch as his fingers brush against her most sensitive of places. It's a moment later that he's sliding into her and she makes a sound that he very much would like to hear again.

Every thrust of his is met with an arching of her back or the movement of her hips; her every cry grows louder and he knows he should shush her, for fear of being overheard, but part of him wants the world to know. He wants little else but to parade her around on his arm, his beautiful queen, sister or not. "Sansa!" Her name falls from his lips as she arches against him, their bodies tight together, her hands clawing their way down his back. In all of his life, he's never felt something as strong nor as true as he felt right then, right there with her. And when he feels himself at the edge, he presses tight against her so he can spill his seed inside of her like a man might do his wife. Spent from his deed, Jon pulls free from her and falls into place beside her, once again taking her into his arms beneath the blankets on his bed.

He closes his eyes and sleeps, wishing with all of his heart that this moment never had to end. But when he woke in the morning, it was to dress, knowing he had to leave her to do his duty as King in the North.

And then, several weeks later, Sansa wakes up to a letter from Jon telling her he's coming home. She also wakes up ill.

She's smiling when she wipes her mouth clean, Jon's letter still clutched tightly in her hand.


	85. Chapter 85 - In the Godswood

Once she had said she would never pray again.

Those gods, both Old and New, had seemingly ignored her pleas all those long years at King's Landing and so she had chosen to forgo them altogether. For what prayer would have saved her from Ramsay Bolton, anyways? In the long months since she and Jon had reclaimed Winterfell, in the endless winter of the fight against the Night King, and of course all that had transpired in the fight for the Iron Throne, Sansa had still yet to find her voice of prayer again. Rather, she had spent endless hours in the godswood with those she loved most; Bran, Arya, even Jon... Now, she was alone again and the godswood had become the only place she could come without being bothered.

This had been a particularly trying day, however, and her feet steered her down the snowy path towards the heart tree. Taking her usual spot, she sank to the ground in a heap of black skirts, a sigh escaping her in a huff of white. Winter illness was claiming lives of children and elderly alike in Wintertown and though it had yet to reach Winterfell, it was not a matter of if but rather when. And though Lord Royce would have been beside himself to know she had snuck out into the cold winter night, Sansa could only offer her loyal Hand a silent apology before she had stole away into the dark.

As it so often does when she lays in bed at night, shed of her new identity as queen, she thinks of Jon. It's been so long since she's last seen him, last held him... She feels the familiar chill seeping into her bones as she thinks of the man she had let go that day in King's Landing. Though she has sent letters, pardons, requests... They have all gone ignored. Sansa supposes she can't blame him for ignoring her, she might if she were in his shoes. It was, after all, quite her fault that Jon found himself banished to the Wall at all.

"I am sorry, you know," she speaks into the void, wishing with every piece of her that he was there. That she could have felt him wrap his arms around her and press a kiss to her tingling lips. She only wants him to know how sorry she is for what's happened, that she never meant for him to be sent away. The only place he should have been was beside her.

It's begun to snow when Jon comes upon her, seated there beneath the heart tree.

For several moments, he can only watch her in silence, hidden behind a not so distant tree. She's wrapped in black furs, the hood of her cloak pushed back enough that he can catch sight of her vibrant red hair. He can't help but to smile at the sight of her and he realizes as much as he wants to hold her, he could be content with just watching her forever.

One long year has passed since he's last seen her, though the thought of her is seldom far from his mind. She haunts him like a ghost, she's an imprint upon his heart. For one long year, he has kept his distance because he _had_ to. He had a lot to forgive himself for and it was only out there, alone, that he felt he could truly atone for what he had done. Though it's a journey not yet finished, his need to see her, to hold her, suddenly outweighed any other feeling inside him.

And that was how he found himself where he was right then, hiding behind a tree in the godswood. This hadn't been his plan, either, it just seemed to be working out this way. Almost as if this was... Meant to be.

_I am sorry, you know, _her words echo along the breeze, drawing him free from his thoughts. Across the way, Jon catches sight of Ghost in the trees, Sansa's scent on his nose. "I wish you were here," she goes on in a soft voice that has Jon taking a single step forward, but he pauses as Ghost comes rushing from the trees, nearly toppling the surprised queen in his attempt to lick her face. "Ghost!" Sansa is torn between laughing and crying as she buries her face in the wolf's shaggy neck. "What are you doing here... Jon... Is Jon...?" Her voice is muffled and Ghost is whining softly as he presses his cold nose into her hair.

Taking this as his moment, Jon steps out from behind the tree he's been hiding behind, slowly approaching where she sits with Ghost. HIs wolf is the first to look up, glaring red eyes peering at him from across Sansa's shoulder. The crunch of snow beneath is feet is enough to alert her and she's turning then, following Ghost's line of sight to fall upon where Jon now stands.

He's not sure how much time passes, but he realizes then just how easy it is to lose himself in those sapphire blue eyes. "Hello, Sansa." He greets as she slowly lets her arms fall from around Ghost, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she rises up to her feet. "No... My queen." He corrects himself as he comes to stand closer to her, hand to Longclaw as if he is prepared to make a vow to her. But she's there before he can make another move, a choked sob escaping her lips as she buries her face into the crook of his shoulder. Jon sucks in a breath and closes his eyes, arms finding their place around her waist. "I'm back," his voice is warm against the shell of her ear and he feels her relax against him, though she draws back just enough to look him in the face. Tears cling to her lashes but her rosy lips curve with a radiant smile before she gives a single nod.

"You're home," she clarifies before he leans in and kisses her, the only appropriate response.


	86. Chapter 86 - Don't Call Me That

It's been a long, trying day and she supposes it's her right as queen to have a bath drawn so late into the night. Though she feels somewhat guilty watching the maids fill up the copper tub with buckets of steaming water, the moment she sinks into it's rose scented depths, she knows she's made the right choice.

Waving away the other handmaidens, it is only Shae that she gives leave to remain and her most loyal lady takes up her time putting away the gown from that day and preparing both her nightgown and fur lined robe, hanging both before the fire to warm before Sansa slips into them later. It is Shae alone that she can tolerate after a day such as this, though she suspects Shae longs to find out what's upset her this day simply so she might handle it on her behalf. Sansa can't help but to smile- Shae forgets that Winterfell is quite unlike King's Landing but it warms her heart to know that the older woman cares as much as she had back then.

She sighs, sinking further into the hot water, just beginning to allow herself to unwind when she hears the knock to her door. Shae crosses the room, dipping behind the sheet that blocks the young queen's bath from those who might step into the room and the first thing she hears is her sigh of disapproval. "The queen is in the bath," Shae says to whoever stands at the door and Sansa can already picture her with her arms folded over her chest, dark eyes peering at the visitor with indignation.

"But..."

Sansa moves fast, sloshing water over the sides of her tub in her effort to sit upright before she hears the door close. "Shae." She calls out, voice choked, eyes wild when Shae steps around the curtain once more. "Let him in," she says softly, ignoring the fact that she's naked in the bath, ignoring the fact that it's late into the night. "Please." She softens and Shae narrows her eyes for only a moment before she sighs and turns back around, disappearing once again to find the young man that had knocked.

Her heart is fluttering fast within her chest as she rises up from the tub, stepping out into the cold air of the room bringing goosebumps to her skin. She shivers into her nightgown and it's just as she's tugging her robe close around her that she hears the door open again. "Just a moment, then." Shae's voice says a moment before she ducks her head around the sheet, ensuring the young woman was decent enough for a visitor. Though she's never met this man, she knows who he is, the Stark in him was undeniable after all.

When the sheet comes down, it's Jon that stands there in her doorway, his dark eyes widening at the sight of her. Sansa sucks in a breath, blinking fast as tears rise to cling to her lashes. "Jon..." She whispers his name, the name that's not been far from her thoughts this whole long year without him. He's the same as always- though with wilder hair and more scruff along his jaw than she's ever before seen. But he looks at her with those deep set eyes and though she's stood in Wintefell all this time, she finally feels _home. _

Though the only thing he can think to do is take her into his arms, Jon knows there's something first he must do. And so he crosses the room and bows low to her, before slowly sinking to one knee before her, head down, gaze on the floor. Even here, with her fresh from the bath, she is every inch the queen he had known she would be. "My queen..." He murmurs, his gaze locked on the trailing hem of her nightgown. There's hundreds of thoughts racing through his mind and though he had what felt like a dozen speeches to give to her, he can think of none of them now.

"Don't call me that."

Jon's face snaps up, her tone sharp, her gaze even sharper. It only takes a moment for her to soften though, her blue eyes full of unshed tears. She remembers who he last called _my queen_ and she shudders, feeling like it is a bad omen to hear him call her the same. Reaching out, she offers him her hand, helping pull him to his feet. "What do you wish for me to call you then, your grace?" He tries again, this time pulling a chuckle from Sansa's lips a moment before she's falling into his open arms.

"Call me by my name."

"Alright then... Sansa..." The sound of her name upon his lips sends chills racing down her spine, pleasure seeping into her bones with a warmth like the summer sun. His arms tighten their hold upon her and she sinks into his embrace, knowing there were hundreds of things to ask, hundreds of things she needed to know. But right then, right there, all that mattered was how tightly he held onto her.


	87. Chapter 87 - Don't Leave Me Behind

She waits for him on the battlements, a soft snow falling around her.

It has become _their _place over time and it feels lonely when she stands up there without him. She arrived first and so as she stood there, overlooking the courtyard of Winterfell, she felt despair brewing in her soul. She doesn't want him to go, she doesn't want him to leave her again. This isn't the same as when he left for Dragonstone all those weeks ago. No... Him going to King's Landing to fight for a queen who deserved no title at all... It was dangerous. There would be enemies all around him. Enemies who would waste little time in murdering the bastard of Winterfell. She knows and she knows well what happens to the men in her family down South and the last thing she wants is to see that happen to Jon.

Footsteps sound and she turns, head inclined ever so slightly as Jon steps out from the halls of Winterfell. He comes down the length of the battlement towards her, their shoulders brushing when he falls into place at her side. "I couldn't find Arya," is all he says and Sansa can feel the heat of his gaze when he looks her way.

"No, I imagine you won't," she replies with a sigh, thinking of her headstrong little sister that was surely already well on her way to King's Landing. "She's probably already there." Jon laughs and turns to face her, the sound sending waves of pleasure rushing through her.

"Aye, she probably is," Jon agrees, still smiling as he tears his gaze from her face for only a moment, to look out along the horizon as if he will see Arya out there somewhere. But he turns back to face Sansa a moment later, intent on comitting to memory the way she looked right there in the morning sunlight. Snow is falling, soft flakes that coat her hair, her cloak, and Jon wonders if she can even feel the cold anymore. He can't.

"I don't want you to go."

The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. A warm flush flooods her cheeks but she forces herself to keep her eyes locked with his. "It's not safe for you down there." She goes on, blinking fast, telling herself that she wasn't going to cry. "Stay here... Stay with me."

Jon wishes he could. There was nothing in this world he wants more than that. To stay there... To stay there with her... It was his only wish. But he knows, as does she, that he must go. He has to go and protect the North and her. He has to go to protect what was precious to him. "I have to go," he says softly, raising up a hand to cup her cheek into his palm, wishing for this moment to never end. "I have to go to keep you safe." He already knew what he would have to do if Daenerys wins, as he knows she will. The dragon queen, despite having a weakened, depleted army, still has two dragons, and that alone is more than enough to conquer King's Landing. He can only hope it is done without needless bloodshed. Daenerys has promised mercy, but he can never be certain of her word.

"Don't leave me behind..." She whispers, a single tear tracing the curve of her cheek; he swipes his thumb beneath her blue eye, catching the next one before it can fall. Standing there, looking into his eyes, she's filled with a rush of faith in this man she loves so dearly. He smiles a moment before he leans in to kiss her, a kiss quite unlike the one he once pressed to her forehead on these same battlements. In that moment, it matters not who might see them, in that moment all he can think of is bringing her even an ounce of peace.

"I never could," he murmurs when he draws back a moment later, though he tips his forehead against hers, hand still to her cheek. "I will be home before you know it." His words ignite a fire within in her and she sinks against him, the feel of him wrapping his arms around her giving her all the strength she needs. "I'll come home to you, I swear it." His voice is warm against her skin as he brushes his mouth along her jaw, his hand sliding further up into her hair. Jon is a man of his word and she knows of all people, it was his vow she could believe in. After all this time, he's never let her down.

So she nods and then she let's him go, because he must go and she had a duty to do, just as he did. He lingers for a moment, his hand in hers, but she is the one to squeeze his one last time and break free. She watches him until he reaches the stairs, turning to give her one last glance over his shoulder before he disappears, descending the stone steps down to the courtyard to meet with the soldiers below. She watches him until he climbs upon his horse and rides forward through the gate, an army at his back. She watches until the lines of men begin to fade from view.

She watches until the cold seeps into her bones, until all she has left is the memory of his arms around her.


	88. Chapter 88 - Hurt Me Like You Do

She's on fire, anger surging through her limbs, seeping into her bones.

_This is my curse, _she thinks with a shake of her head, a strained sort of laugh falling from her rosy lips. _This is my curse for loving a man I cannot have. _She should have known better all those weeks ago when they met in this very chamber the night before he left her for Dragonstone. Jon reaches out a hand as if he means to touch her, but she steps back, just out of his reach. She had heard the rumors about the young dragon queen, Daenerys Targaryen, that she was beautiful and wild and powerful. The unburnt queen with three dragons she hatched from a funeral pyre. Sansa knew the rumors and meeting the queen face to face had confirmed what she should have known all along; she simply could not compete. Not with a woman such as Daenerys Targaryen. Not when she was a damaged woman, the shell of a girl she used to be. Once, Jon had looked at her as if she were the stars hanging in the sky, now he barely glanced at her. _This is my curse,_ she thinks again, _for loving my own brother. _

She's angry with herself more than anything, her pride wounded, her heart broken. Anger for falling for Jon's soft touch that night, anger for allowing herself to believe in a man again. And she's angry with Jon for breaking that faith she had in him, for making her see the truth that was probably always there in the back of her mind. This would serve as a constant reminder of what a man could do when presented with a pretty woman.

"Sansa, please," his voice is of a broken man, a conflicted one. She raises her gaze to meet his, those Stark colored eyes she once thought she could get lost in. "You don't understand." He goes on, shaking his head, taking a single step towards her, as if he means to close the gap between them. But he thinks better of it, drawing his hand to his chest, fingers curling into a shaking fist.

"What's there to understand, Jon?" Her voice is quiet anger, empty sorrow in her sapphire colored eyes. "I think I understand quite well," she quips, noting his wince as if she's struck him. She wants to, in truth. "You sailed for Dragonstone to find us an ally in Daenerys Targaryen to protect the North from the Night King... Did sleeping with her solidfy your alliance?" He winces yet again and closes his eyes, but she's not finished yet. "You have promised my home, _our_ home, to this foreign queen... _We _took it back from the Bolton's, but you saw fit to give it away without even speaking to me." He's opened his eyes again and she must look away, she can't face him when he looks at her that way. "You have chosen her over me, that is clear enough, Jon." She stops herself now, knowing there was no use in going on. What else she had left to say... Now was not the time.

"I chose the North," he rasps with a shake of his head. "I chose you, no matter the cost."

Sansa smiles, a wane, joyless smile that fades when she speaks. "I once thought that." She turns then, heading towards the door, turning back only when her hand is on the knob. "No one has hurt me like you have," her words cut him deeper than any sword ever could and ever would, they steal the breath from his lungs, rendering him unable to speak before she's disappeared out the door.


	89. Chapter 89 - I Don't Want to be Alone

It's strange to be back, back in the rooms that had once been Robb's.

He recalls the last time he had stood in these rooms, the morning they waited for Robert Baratheon to arrive, freshly shaved boys that had yet to grow into men. Rickon and Bran had run underfoot and Jon had thought back then that he never wanted to leave home. Being there with his brothers, with his family, that had meant everything to him. Even if Lady Stark had been cold and Sansa had been distant.

If only he'd stayed... If only they had all stayed.

He sighs, running his hand along the fur lined coverlet on the bed, such a thing so old it was made with Lady Stark's own stiching. It's just as he's sinking onto the edge of the bed that a knock sounds, bringing him back to his feet just as the door swings open.

She comes in like a winter storm; skirts swirling, red hair flying, blue eyes damp with sorrow. "Sansa," he says as she crosses the room to stand at the window, staring out into the godswood which the view overlooks. When she doesn't respond at first, he slowly approaches her where she stands, reaching out a hand to gently touch her shoulder, guiding her back around to face him. His heart breaks at the sight of her; she's pale and tired, eyes swollen with crying. "Are you alright?" He asks, even though he knows it's a stupid question. Just looking at her, he knows she's far from alright.

Blinking, she moves past him, pacing the floor as she wrings her hands before her. She cannot find the words to express to him what she feels because even she isn't certain. Sansa knows she should feel joy- they've taken back their home from the Bolton's, but at what cost? Rickon was dead, he was down in the crypts already. Bran was missing, Arya was missing... Robb was dead, her parents were dead. Everyone was lost to her except for Jon.

She freezes where she stands, raising her stricken face up to his, breaking apart right there before him. It's his arms that she feels a moment later, winding around her as they sink to the floor, her face buried in his shoulder as she cries. Jon speaks soft, comforting words into her ear, the warmth of his voice bringing her more peace than she has felt in a lifetime. He holds her for what could be several minutes or several hours, she loses track of time there in his arms. But finally, her sobs begin to quiet and she draws back from him, knowing that gazing into his eyes always left her feeling safer, stronger even. _**"I don't want to be alone right now,"**_ she admits softly and Jon smiles, giving her a single nod before he rises up to his feet, drawing her up with him.

And it's then that he leads her towards his bed, guiding her until she's lost her shoes and is tucked beneath the furs, warm and safe. "You never have to be alone again." He says softly, leaning over her to press a kiss to her temple, a reminder for both of them of the other kiss they had shared that morning on the battlements. Her cheeks flush with color and she nods, swallowing against the emotion rising in her throat as she settles back against his pillow. He sits down on the bed beside her and she draws her hand out from beneath the blankets so she can grab hold of his, giving it a tight squeeze.

"Neither do you," she whispers into the dark and Jon smiles.


	90. Chapter 90 - Jon's Dream

The dream is always the same.

He's walking the path towards the godswood; its snowing, it's cold. It's winter. He walks until he comes to the heart tree, where just like every night before, it's Bran that stands there. _You can walk... _He'll whisper to the little brother he's always loved, grown tall as a man. _Of course I can, one can do anything in a dream, Jon. _He always responds the same, with that quick wit, a pep in his voice he no longer holds in the waking world.

Every night, he feels as if he's growing closer to something. It's as if Bran has something to say to him, something Jon wasn't entirely ready to hear. But on this night, when he steps into that godswood and sees Bran waiting for him, something tells Jon he's ready to hear whatever it was that he has to say. _Why have you not gone home? _Bran asks him at once, as if he senses Jon's uneasiness and wants to get the conversation going before he can wake himself up. _Why do you remain brooding at the wall when you belong at home, at Winterfell?_

Jon starts, frustration rising up within him as he gives his head a shake. _It was you who banished me here, Bran, _he says sharply, perhaps more sharply than he means. _I accepted the punishment for my crimes, as sentenced by you, _he amends, shifting the weight on his feet, the snow crunching beneath his heels. All around them, the snow softly flutters, reminding him of her. Of Sansa.

To his surprise, Bran smiles, a strange sight now that he thinks on it. _Why do you think I sentenced you as King of the Six Kingdoms? _His question is fair and Jon cannot think of the answer. _I accepted the Northern independence because it is what the North deserves. But the moment I did so, I gave away my right to punish you at all_, he smiles again as a new look of realization dawns upon Jon's face. _The North's queen never banished you to the wall. I may be King of the remaining kingdoms, but the North's politics are not my own to tend to. _

_So I... I can go home? _ The words are a plea upon his lips and as Bran nods, the sky above clears of clouds and instead, it is the spring sun shining down upon his head. He smiles as something warm fills him up and then...

He's awake.

When he steps out into the courtyard of Castle Black, he can feel the warmth of the sun shining from above. He tilts his head back and sure enough, peaking through the gray clouds is a hint of blue sky. _Spring is coming again, _he thinks, _and I must go home. _

And so home he would go.


	91. Chapter 91 - It's Just a Cut

When he comes into her rooms, she's bleeding.

"Sansa!" He yelps, nearly knocking over the table in his effort to reach her. "You're bleeding!" He barks, reaching for her wrist so he can draw her injured hand close for his inspection. "What happened?" He demands, looking from her bleeding palm to her face, then down to the table they're standing beside.

The top of the table is cluttered; droplets of blood are splattered across the top, as well as what he knows must be the weapon she's injured herself with, a small blade he recognizes at once as Valyrian steel, and he reminds himself to say something to that blasted blacksmith Gendry who must have made her the knife. "It's just a cut, really," Sansa protests, trying to draw her hand back from him, but Jon only holds onto her wrist a little bit tighter. And though she frowns, she falls silent as Jon leans in so he can inspect the wound a little bit closer.

It was as she said- though bleeding heavily, it was a superficial cut to the soft skin of her palm that would probably heal without even scarring. "What happened?" He asks as he draws the goblet of wine that sits on the table closer and without a word, dumps it over her open wound. She hisses with pain and Jon shoots her an apologetic look before he begins to blot it clean with a scrap of linen she must have fished from her sewing basket before his arrival.

"I was... Well I..." She blushes to the roots of her fiery hair, casting her gaze away as if she's too embarrassed to answer. "I was trying to learn to use it," she finally says softly, lifting her gaze back to his. "After what happened in the crypts..." Fear resides in her eyes and Jon feels his heart skip a beat. Of course... of course. She must have been terrified that night in the crypts, sent down there where she thought she would be safe. Instead, she had been forced to watch her own families corpses rise from the dead, she had been forced to plunge that same blade into Rickon's back to keep him from killing a small child. Nothing would ever let her forget that night. "I only wanted to be more helpful in the future."

As Jon finishes wrapping her hand in cloth, he turns back to face her and can't help but to reach out and touch her cheek, fingertips trailing the curve of her soft skin. "You don't have to wield a blade just to be useful, Sansa." He says seriously, his hand slipping down to take hold of her uninjured one. "Your hands are meant for holding, for sewing, for tending." He thinks of her when he saw her that night- tending to the injured despite what she herself had been witness to. "The Lady of Winterfell needs no blade to protect herself or her people." He goes on, his words tugging at both her heart and her lips, curving them into a small smile. "That's my job. I made you a promise, Sansa. I'm _always_ going to protect you." Her eyes widen at such an admission and then she softens, blinking back tears that gather upon her lashes. "So promise me that you won't try again without me? Or at least Arya, she's more skilled than I am I think."

Her laugh is soft, but it's a truer laugh than Jon has heard since he's returned home from Dragonstone and he's full of relief at the sound of it. "I promise," she finally says with a nod, knowing it wouldn't have taken much to convince her otherwise- her hand hurt like hell and that was enough to keep her from picking up the blade for a long time. Although, she had to admit, she liked the feel of his hand on hers, gently taking care of her injury just as she had done for him two nights prior. She liked it, having him this close.

And Jon liked it, too.


	92. Chapter 92 - Is It You?

His mind is racing, full of pictures he doesn't want to face. _Not yet, _he thinks, hands over ears, sinking down into the chair before the hearth. _Not yet, not yet. _He isn't ready to face the image of losing Rickon, of the blood stained corpse that was all he had left of his littlest brother. He remembers him small, clinging to Sansa's skirts in the courtyard; he remembers his laughter along the wind, his Tully touched hair gleaming in the afternoon sun. His heart... it aches as much as his fists, bruised and broken perhaps even beyond repair.

Pain, anger, sorrow, it all rushes through him, pulling him in dozens of different directions. All he can think about is turning it all off, all he can think about is sinking into the darkness of sleep. Perhaps he will wake up and this will all have just been a dream. _Not a dream,_ he thinks as he raises his gaze to stare into the fire burning in the hearth, _a fucking nightmare. _He thinks back to the hundreds of moments that had led him here to this moment. That night... No, it's another moment he's not ready to face. That night of his death. But he remembers waking up, that first breath of life, though he knows he had not begun to live again until Sansa appeared.

He would never forget that moment when he first saw her again. She had been so thin, so small... She was like a ghost. It had taken him no time at all to realize what purpose his ressurection had served: _her. _His reason for living again was her, that beautifully broken soul that had become Sansa Stark. Sister or not, she was his reason to live. He had gone to war for her and he would do it again and again and again. He would fight any battle, would fight any enemy, so long as it meant her protection.

Perhaps deep in the back of his mind, Jon knows the truth of his feelings, but even here, now, he's not ready to admit it even in the safety of his own thoughts.

And as if he's conjured her from his thoughts alone, he feels it, the warm yet soft touch of her hand against his shoulder, against his cheek. "Jon..." Her voice is like the whisper of the wind, her touch like the summer sun. He turns to face her and her face is pale and drawn, but her sapphire colored eyes are soft and gentle, comforting him as he stares her in the face.

"Is it you?" His hand reaches for hers and she clings back to him, tears filling her eyes as she gives a single nod. In that moment, no longer does it matter what ties they hold to each other because all he wants to do, no _needs_ to do, is hold onto her. And so he tugs on her hand, drawing her down onto his lap there before the fire. Her soft protest, her plea for his wounds, both are ignored as he holds her close, just breathing her in, her familiar scent of rosewater making him whole once again. "I'm sorry," he whispers, over and over again, tears burning behind his closed lids. He's sorry for so very much.

Jon feels her lean into him then, slipping her fingers through his, giving his hand a single, yet tender squeeze. "We still have each other," she whispers back, tipping her head so it rests against his, while his other arm remains slung comfortably around her hips. "We'll always have each other."

Maybe that would just be enough.


	93. Chapter 93 - A Secret Son

The day her son was born, she was woke from a dream of spring.

Laughter had floated along the warm breeze, the sun shining overhead as children played in the godswood. They wrestled in the melting snow, wolves and boys, while the little girls stood on the side lines, cheering the boys on. Somehow, in the back of her mind, she knows those children belong to her. There's a boy with dark curls and Stark colored eyes, he's the oldest of the bunch. Then there's the boy with Tully touched auburn locks, the second born that comes close behind the oldest. The oldest of the girls is small and dark, she's like the grandmother she's named for and the aunt she idolizes. Then there's the other two, a boy and girl with eyes the color of spring violets and silvery hair that catches the sun.

The first wave of labor pain is what startles her awake and she's unable to stop the cry of surprise, of pain, from leaving her lips. Brienne is in the room at once, the door thrown open without any sense of formality- it's been left behind at the sound of her lady's pained cries. At the sight of Sansa sitting up, doubled over in pain, Brienne knows what is happening and she's out the door, shouting for the maid that was making her way down the hall at that very moment. "The queen's time has come!"

Fear grips her but she swallows it down, focusing instead on the prospect of holding her child. She knows he will be her Prince of Winterfell- they will call him the Young White Wolf, a boy named for the uncle he'll never know. A child born of the wolves, the stories will say, born in the first year of his mother's rule. For one single moment, she can only wonder about the other children she has dreamed of... But then another wave of pain takes her over and the door to her room bangs open as maids filter in and suddenly, there is little else for her to think about besides the pain of labor.

Except for him.

She thinks of Jon even as she's bearing down, birthing the child he helped create. Sansa wishes he were here now, she wishes he even knew there was a child at all. She thinks of Jon as she feels the child slip from her body into the hands of the maester, she thinks of him as the babe gives his first angry howl at being thrown so rudely into a bright, new world he doesn't know. She thinks of Jon as they hand her the baby for the first time, where even now at two minutes old, the whole room knows the truth of his birth. He is a Stark born child, even in infancy he is his father's copy. "Robb," Sansa cries softly as she cradles her son to her chest, naming him as she had always intended, though she wonders if Ned would be more appropriate, given his looks. But the room melts at the name and beside her bed, Brienne drops to her knees, swearing to protect the child as she's always protected Sansa.

She thinks of Jon as she peers into her son's perfect little face, wishing with all of her heart that he was there.

If only, if only...

[ x x x ]

"I have news from the North."

It is Tyrion that speaks and Jon looks up from where he sits in his solar, at first annoyed by the interruption but it fades as his words settle on his brain. He's been here, trapped in King's Landing as he once was trapped at Dragonstone, all these months since Daenerys had conquered it with brute strength. On the back of Drogon, she had soared through the skies, belching flames and smoke until there was little left of the capital but rubble. Those who had survived the massacre now lived in fear of the tyrant queen. "News?" Jon questions, absently rubbing the back of his head.

He misses home, he misses Winterfell. He misses _her. _

Jon thinks back to the last time he saw her, the morning of his departure from Winterfell. She had been so beautiful that day, bathed in the morning sunlight, wrapped in furs. He had longed to kiss her that morning, to remind her of where his heart so truly belonged... But they had been stumbled upon and instead, he had embraced her as any good brother might have embraced his dearly loved sister. When she had slipped from his arms, he felt empty.

"There is a rumor that your sister has given birth to a son."

The goblet of ale Jon had been reaching for suddenly clangs to the floor and Jon curses, dropping to the floor so he might mop up the amber liquid, though it's done more to hide his face than clean the mess. "That is quite the rumor," Jon finally says when he's recovered from his shock enough to control his features. He rises back up, settling himself back into his chair and setting the now empty goblet onto his desk. "My sister remains unmarried."

Tyrion smirks, eyebrow arching as he climbs into the chair that sits before Jon's oak desk. "They say the child is sired by wolves." The imp explains, watching Jon's face for any sign of what he knows must surely be the truth. That the child born to Sansa Stark is Jon's own child, a child born out of wedlock between two presumed half siblings. There were very few who knew the truth of Jon's parentage, after all. "The queen wishes to know if it is only a rumor or not," the peace between the North and the remaining kingdoms is thin and it is only because of Jon's sacrifice of remaining beside Daenerys that the North was given it's independence. Dorne is hot with jealousy and there had been whispers of their itch for their own. The Iron Islands would not be far behind. Daenerys had lost her loyal allies and now only ruled through fear. But, there was only one single dragon to fear, how long would it be before there were none?

"She's also agreed that it should be you who goes to confirm the rumor," Tyrion's voice draws Jon's attention back and his sharp, Stark colored eyes settle upon the Lannister. The man steeples his fingers together and sighs. "I suppose, what the queen knows or doesn't know... Won't concern her." All he wants is this peace to last; he's riddled with guilt over the last few months, the ringing of the bells still yet haunts his every dream. Tyrion knows the rumor of the Northern queen's pregnancy must be only that- a rumor. True or not, the mother of dragons would not take kindly to hearing the true heir of the Seven Kingdoms had a child with the true heir of the North, who she herself has given a crown to. What a powerful child, what a power for the already disgruntled people to stand behind instead. If one wished to topple a tyrant queen, this would probably be the way. If one wished, that was. Tyrion reaches for the jug of ale and pours himself a goblet, draining it in two quick swallows before pouring himself another.

Jon understands the deeper meaning behind the imp's words. Who better than he understands what Daenerys Targaryen is capable of? He watched her sack an entire city that had surrendered, all because she could. _Fine, let it be fear, _she had told him that night after the feast. _Fear. _He had listened to her threats against his people, his family... He knew what she would do if she felt threatened by Sansa and the North. It would take no time at all for the North to look as King's Landing had once looked. Ash would fall from the skies like snow, blanketing Winterfell. "When am I to leave?" He extends his hand out, goblet tight in his grip, a silent request for ale of his own.

Tyrion raises his gaze to meet his eyes and leans in so they may clink glasses. "Tomorrow."

[ x x x ]

Sansa hears the cry from the guard tower from where she sits in her solar, Robb tucked against her chest as she looks over a letter from Dorne. She knows it's dangerous water she treds, even just opening such letters as the Prince of Dorne wishes to fight for his nation's freedom. There are whispers everywhere of overthrowing the dragon queen and though once Sansa would have involved herself readily but now... She glances down at the baby in her arms and knows she's got a whole lot more to protect these days. Sometimes she fears doing nothing at all leaves her son in more danger.

"Your grace."

It is Lord Royce in her doorway, dipping her a bow. As always, he smiles over the baby she holds, warming her heart at the sight of it. Sansa knows now how truly loved she is by her people, for there was not one who voiced displeasure over her baby born from wedlock. If there were any susipicions on the father, they were not mentioned publicly, and she laughs when she hears how they say her son was born of the wolves. "Yes?" She asks, lowering the letter from Dorne, focusing her blue eyed gaze on the older man.

"There's a rider at the gate, a rider from King's Landing."

Sansa's heart skips a beat but she dares not feel excitement. Jon would not be here, she would never allow that. "See that they are fed and warmed, then bring them here." Lord Royce gives her a nod and then bows before he backs from the room to do as he's been bid. What Lord Royce did not say was that he had caught a glimpse of the man who rode through, a man with unmistakable raven colored curls. But he goes on his way, sending a steward down to take the man to the kitchens, so he might warm himself before the great fires and eat a bit of porridage from that morning's breakfast.

In the minutes before the knock sounds on the door, Sansa cannot help but to fawn over the baby she holds. Robb is a sweet babe, though his angry cries can easily wake the entire castle. Peering into his dark eyes, she sees his father, she sees his grandfather. Little Robb is Jon's child, there is no doubt, his Stark genes undeniable. His gummy smile is frequently seen but his displeasure is just as easily heard, though Sansa loves every moment of it.

_Knock, knock. _

Hearing the knock, she jumps, chills racing the length of her spine. Somehow, she already knows who stands at her door. She turns and gently sets Robb into his cradle, hard oak wood carved with wolves and the weirwood tree. "Come in," she calls, adjusting her position in her chair as the door swing opens and the man comes through. The breath catches in her throat, stolen from her lungs as Jon sinks to his knees before her desk. She didn't dare believe it could ever be him, but now that he's here... Tears spring to her eyes as she opens her mouth, his name soft upon her lips. "Jon..."

He cannot believe how beautiful she is.

It's been a long eight months since he's last seen her, last held her. Her autumn touched hair is longer than ever, pulled back in a mound of intricate braids, leaving only a few soft curls to frame her features. Those blue eyes... Eyes he would willingly drown in, eyes the color of the open sea, of the summer sky. Her gown is of gray velvet, form fitting to a figure that is softer than he remembers and he only wants to take her into his arms. "My queen," he breathes as he hits his knees, holding Longclaw in the Northern gesture of fealty. For once, those words do not feel empty, they don't feel hollow.

She rises up from the chair she's been sitting in, coming around the desk, gray skirts sweeping across the rushes. "You're here..." She murmurs as she sinks down to his level, one hand cupping his cheek to her palm, his beard prickly against her soft skin. "I don't believe this," she shakes her head, blinking fast, the tears clinging to her lashes as she sucks in a breath. "Why.."

Before she can say another word, Jon is taking her into his arms. There on the floor, he pulls her to him and holds fast. She hears his sharp intake of breath as he buries his face into the crook of her shoulder, as his arms wind around her waist. Sansa breathes him in- he smells of horses and a campfire. "I'm an envoy now," he grins when he finally pulls back and the laugh she lets out sounds like a sob. "I've missed you," he sobers, his fingertips tracing the curve of her cheek as he stares into her eyes.

"I've missed you," she whispers, tears falling down her face faster than Jon could wipe them away. "I thought I would truly never see you again." She'll never forget that day, when they had hugged goodbye on the docks of King's Landing, she set to return to the North and her crown, he to remain behind with the dragon queen. "Jon, there's something I must tell you..."

Behind them, as if on cue, Robb lets out a cry.

Jon's eyes widen at the sound and Sansa rises back to her full height, drawing him up with her. "There was a rumor that reached Tyrion," Jon breathes and Sansa shoots him an apologetic smile. "It's... True..?" Sansa doesn't respond but rather takes him by the hand and guides him behind her desk, where the cradle sits just out of sight if one isn't looking for it. Jon knows before she says it, for looking at the baby is like looking into a mirror. The child is certainly his. "Sansa!" He tears his wild gaze from the now smilling baby to look at Sansa, who is staring dreamily down at the infant, her rosy lips curved with a smile.

"I wanted to tell you... That day on the docks..." She says softly, tears once again filling her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispers, looking back up to meet his gaze. Jon shakes his head and leans in, pulling her close to kiss. He wraps her in his arms and kisses her deep, a long slow kiss that he hopes makes up for all the ones they've missed. "Would you like to hold him?" She asks when she's pulled back and Jon gives a nod. Sansa reaches into the cradle and the baby begins to smile and coo as his mother lifts him into her arms. A moment later, she extends out her arms and slips the baby into Jon's. "I named him for Robb," she says, reaching out to brush her fingers through Robb's downy black hair, already curling at the ends like Jon's does.

"Robb," Jon breathes, leaning down to gently kiss the baby's forehead, his heart overflowing when Robb takes hold of his index finger and holds on tight. "My son." He tests out the phrase and knows without a doubt he can never part from them again. He can never stay away. Suddenly, a dark thought takes root, a dark but necessary thought that must come true if he ever wants to keep this child safe. If he ever wants to keep Sansa safe.

He will do anything to keep his family safe.


	94. Chapter 94 - For Shae

The knock on her door pulls her attention from the scroll of parchment in her hands. "Come in," the young queen calls and when the door opens, it is Lord Royce. He approaches her where she sits at her desk and offers her a bow. "You have news?" She asks, to which he nods, though his face does not change its expression. Somehow, she already knows what he's going to say before he even says it.

"There was a guard in King's Landing... A guard that Tyrion Lannister paid him to help him dispose of the body." He bows his head, eyes closing as he lets out the breath he's been holding. "I am sorry, my queen." He murmurs when he opens his eyes, taking in the sight of her face. She's gone white, but merely purses her lips together and nods. "The guard said it was Tyrion that took her life."

"And her body?" The queen asks, her voice sharp as steel, her gaze even sharper.

"Buried somewhere in the gardens." Lord Royce replies, watching as the queen sits back in her chair, hands twisting together on her lap beneath her desk. "The guard said that Tyrion visits it regularly, though he tells anyone who asks it's merely a spot he enjoys that's away from everyone." The queen chokes on a laugh and she rolls her sapphire colored eyes, giving her head the smallest of shakes, as if she cannot believe the words he's just said.

"Thank you, Lord Royce." She says by way of dismissal- but as he turns to go, she calls out to him again. "A moment more, if you don't mind." She holds out a folded parchment that's already been sealed with her sigil in wax. "Send this to Lord Tyrion straight away, if you would." Lord Royce takes the letter from her, noticing a new glint in her eyes he's never seen before. "And this one..." She holds out another letter and this time, her lips curve with a strained sort of smile. "This one to Castle Black." Lord Royce holds her gaze for a single moment before he accepts the letter and tucks it, along with the one for Tyrion, into his doublet. "Thank you, my lord," she says with a truer smile and he nods, smiling for her before he bows and backs out of the room.

When she's alone, the smile fades, but Sansa finds she can cry no tears.

It feels as though all of her tears have been spent- from her days back in King's Landing until now, she's cried so much that surely there can be no more tears that fall from her eyes. Besides, she's cried for this loss already. Since the day she had left King's Landing, she has missed Shae dearly. She's thought of her often and had hoped there would come a day when they would meet again. But, such a thought had been the naive hope of a girl long since gone. But... To learn what she's learned this day... That Tyrion himself had taken the life of the only friend she'd had in King's Landing.

She thinks of the letters she's sent and she smiles. He would know her fury, that much she's certan of. And the other letter... She can only hope it will be answered.

[ x x x ]

"A letter, my lord."

Tyrion looks up from where he sits at his desk, piles of papers littering the top. "Thank you," he says as he takes the letter from the young man, waiting until the door has closed behind him to look it over. On the front is his name in neat, slanted handwriting, handwriting of a well educated woman, if he had to guess. And sure enough when he turns it over, it is the Stark sigil pressed into the sealing wax.

For a moment, his heart wavers, as if he knows opening this letter will change everything. But he forces his fingers to move, breaking the seal on the Queen in the North's letter that has so suddenly arrived for him. And then... He reads.

_Tyrion,_

_ For the last several months, I have sought answers in regards to my handmaiden Shae. I know you two were lovers once and now I know you killed her with your bare hands. You need not write me to protest your innocence, the guard you once paid off is now in my confidence. It seems that I have friends even there, you would do well to remember that. _

_ If it were not my brother who is King, I would crush you with an army of my own making. I would take you as my prisoner and I would ensure you spend the last of your days in a jail cell where you so truly belong. But I honor my brother and he speaks highly of you, even if I cannot say why. I once did, too, though you have proven your hand to me time and time again. _

_ As you are not a subject of my own, there is little I can do, but I can do this: if you ever step foot into the North, you will be punished. If I catch even a scent of Lannister in my kingdom, you will find yourself at the mercy of the North, and you will not find your way out of it. If I decide to be merciful, I will send you to the wall to join the Night's Watch with the other criminals, as it is the only place among the living that you deserve to be. _

_ But, as you will stay there in King's Landing and continue to go unpunished for your crime against Shae and all others, this will serve as atonement enough. By the time you read this letter, Jon Snow will be freed from the Night's Watch and in my keep. He was undeservedly punished and if you will not be punished, then neither shall he. _

_ I again warn you on setting foot into the North, for I am not a queen of mercy when it comes to punishing those who deserve it most. _

When he finishes her letter, his heart is thumping wildly in his chest.

He thinks of Shae often, but avoids thinking of what he did to her. For a moment, he imagines her as she had been that day- her eyes wide and her nails clawing, fighting with every bit of strength she had to survive. And she almost had. Almost.

He doesn't regret what he did, he only regrets that it had to be her. He had loved her, after all. Truthfully, he's surprised that Sansa has learned the truth, especially so many years later. He had assumed she had thought little of Shae, as she had most everyone in King's Landing, not that he could blame her. Yet again, he had under estimated Sansa Stark, as most everybody around her had done all of her life. Now, he knows, and he knows better than to ever try and find out if she's good on her promise of his punishment.

And so he supposes he will have to live with Jon Snow's release and live without ever returning North.

[ x x x ]

Sitting upon her throne, Sansa looks out at the empty room around her, fingers tightening their hold on the arm rests as the double doors across the room open. It is Jon standing there, his dark hair wilder than ever, his face hidden behind months worth of scruff. But it is Jon... It's Jon. He steps into the room and the door closes behind him as he walks along the aisle, towards where she sits, spine straight, knuckles white.

He walks until he's right there, just barely out of her reach. "My queen," he murmurs before he drops to a knee before her, Longclaw unsheathed and offered to her in a gesture of fealty. For the first time in his life, those two words, _my queen,_mean something to him. They mean everything to him. "I am yours, if you would have me." When he raises his eyes to meet hers, he's blindsided by the brilliance of her smile.

"You have always been mine." She replies, ignoring the warmth that gathers in her cheeks, ignoring the wild thumping of her heart in her chest. There has never been anyone else, nor would there ever be. "Welcome home."

When Jon rises to his feet, it's to open his arms to her, and he knows he's home.

Truly, home. 


	95. Chapter 95 - Post RLJ Reveal

The air is sharp, is aching in his chest.

But perhaps that is more heartbreak than cold.

He sits beneath the canopy of red weirwood leaves, the lightest of snows falling from the gray sky above. In truth, he's missed this; the ache of the cold, the sense of isolation that the godswood brings. He still remembers the last time he prayed beneath these trees... The night they had taken Winterfell back. Beneath the trees, he had listened for the whispers of his family's ghosts, wishing that his father would speak to him, to guide him. Now, his father was not who he had always thought him to be.

Now, even he was someone else entirely.

That night after reclaiming Winterfell, when he had sat in this very spot, he had wished for Ned Stark to tell him he was on the right path. That in the end, everything he was fighting for was worth it. That losing Rickon meant something, that losing nearly everyone he loved meant something. Ned Stark had never showed himself, had never spoken to him, but rather Sansa had come to him, proving to him yet again just what his purpose in life had become.

Much like that night, he hears the soft crunch of snow beneath her boots. He would know the sound of her footsteps anywhere. When he looks up, she stands there just out of reach, vivid red hair dusted with the falling snow, her cheeks pink from the cold. For a long moment, there is nothing but silence, but her eyes tell him everything. "Sam told you." He turns away, unable to face her. He can't take her pity. His eyes burn but they do not spill over, though there again is that ache in his chest.

"No," she says as she sinks to the ground beside him, a heap of black and gray wool skirts there in the white snow. "Bran did." She goes on, her gaze unwavering until he raises his solemn gray eyes to meet hers. "It doesn't change anything," she ventures on, the words thick in her throat. This revelation changes everything, but not in the way anyone else thinks. "You're still Jon, you're still my bro-" she stops, shaking her head before she reaches out to touch his hand. "You're still Jon." She clarifies and this time, a small smile flickers on his lips. "Targaryen, Stark, Snow... It doesn't matter because to me, you're always going to be Jon."

Her words mean everything to him. "Thank you, Sansa," he says quietly, slipping his hand into hers.

His mind is a whirlwind of moments; wrestling with Robb in the courtyard, Arya and Bran cheering on the sidelines. Then there's Sansa with baby Rickon in her arms, their hair matching shades of red. There's his father- for that's who Ned Stark was- telling him that their blood was one and the same, even if their names were not. Even Lady Stark is there, her severe face softening only when she once peered down at him in his sickbed. There's Sansa again, appearing through the gates of Castle Black hours after his revival, her face bruised and her soul broken. She's there over and over again, hundreds of little moments, like the warm touch of her hand or the soft glow of her smile. Maybe it was as Sansa said, all along he's been a Stark.

Maybe it was as she said, that nothing had to change.

_Well, one thing has to change, _he thinks as their eyes meet once again. All these months of cat and mouse, of fighting the feelings that grew between them... Suddenly, the one thing that kept them apart all this time was gone. "Sansa... I..." He begins, for what better time than now would be to tell her the truth of how he feels? They are days, no, hours, from the fight against the Night King and he knows as well as she does that either one of them could be dead when it was over. He wants her to know the truth of how he feels before then, just in case... "Sansa..." She's leaning in, so close he can feel the warmth of her breath against his skin when she exhales, her lower lip caught between her teeth. It's there on the tip of his tongue, it's there for him to say except...

"What are you doing?"

They spring apart and when they turn, its Arya they're facing. "Arya!" Sansa says, jumping to her feet, dusting her snow covered skirts off. "I told you not to sneak up on people like that!" Arya smirks but nods anyways, knowing she should honor her sister's wishes- even if she enjoyed frightening Sansa when she did. "We were just talking," Sansa goes on, looking down at Jon who still yet sits, clearly recovering from the shock of Arya appearing and catching them in a moment that they could not really explain. There was only one reason two people leaned in so close to one another and it was not a reason that two supposed half siblings should have had.

"Right, talking," Arya replies after a moment, suspicion in her dark colored eyes as they fall upon her older siblings. But she says nothing more on the subject- she's seen the looks Sansa and Jon have exchanged and she knows what those looks say. She only wishes they would be honest with her and honestly, with themselves. "White walkers were spotted," she changes the subject and that's when Jon finally snaps back to reality. "Just outside of Wintertown." When Jon is on his own feet, Arya offers him the quickest of smiles, a smile that says what her words are not. "I'll see you two at dinner," she raises her hand in a gesture of goodbye before she turns and heads back the way she must have come, her footsteps silent despite the snow beneath her feet.

"I don't know how to tell her," Jon says when she's long gone, though his stare follows the path she had once walked. Of all the Stark children, with the exception of Robb, he'd always been closest to Arya. But now... She was like a different person. He doesn't know what she'll say or how she'll react when he tells her the truth of his parentage. Again, he's full of doubt, and full of fear of what this new revelation will do to the family he's just barely begun to piece back together again.

"She loves you as much as I do," Sansa speaks quietly and Jon turns back to look at her, though she too is staring off at where Arya had once been walking. "You're her big brother, no matter what." Her gaze shifts and she smiles when their eyes meet. "Nothing will change for you two." That she knows for certain. Jon could have told Arya that he wasn't even their cousin and she would still love him the same. Jon sucks in a breath and nods, knowing she was right, as always. "We should go back... Before someone else sneaks up on us." They laugh and Jon offers her his arm, unable to help but to smile when she loops hers with his and they begin to make their way back towards Winterfell. "I mean it, you know..." She says as they walk, causing Jon to arch a brow at her, a silently posed question. "That you're always going to be Jon to me. It doesn't matter if your my brother or not, I'm always going to love you as I do." Her cheeks are two red blooms of color and he knows the color doesn't come from the cold.

He longs to say it, but he's lost his nerve, and so all he can do is lean in closer to her as they come up over the hill, her body warm against his. But he vows, before the battle begins, she'll hear the truth from his own lips.


End file.
